


Dead Static

by underatomicskies



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Ghost Stan Pines, Possession, Pre-Portal Incident (Gravity Falls), Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underatomicskies/pseuds/underatomicskies
Summary: Stan finds himself at Ford’s weird cabin in the woods with no car and no recollection of how he got there. His day couldn’t possibly get any stranger than this, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I finished writing all the chapters for my other fic, The Crooked Kind, and figured why not start another one. (For those who’ve also read that, welcome back!) As with that fic, I’ll be updating tags as this progresses. Happy reading and let me know your thoughts.

Stan Pines always knew he would die young. 

It wasn’t exactly something uncommon when someone lived the life style that he did. Living on the streets, living fast— that kind of living never did tend to last. Never did tend to be kind either. 

Hell, there was already plenty of times where he’d escaped with his life just by pure dumb luck. He’d lost count of the amount of times he thought he was as good as gone yet he always seemed to somehow make it out ok, more or less. Maybe a few wounds to patch up, but still whole and breathing.

The thing is, he always thought he’d go out fighting. Stan Pines wasn’t a man to lay back and take a beating. He always fought back with tooth and nail, or anything else he could find to fight with. 

He never thought he’d go quietly. 

What was the saying he’d heard once? This was how the world ends. Not with a bang but with a whimper. 

The last thing he recalled was getting the post card from his brother and packing up what few belongings he had to his name into his car before setting out for what he knew would be a long trip. 

The address he had been given had been in some sleepy town in Oregon called Gravity Falls. He’d had a hell of a time getting directions to the town. It wasn’t on any maps, and no one seemed to have even heard of it. For all he knew, the place didn’t actually exist. 

More or less, he did get some directions after talking to enough gas station attendees. He remembered driving past the large sign that welcomed him to the town, yet nothing about it had seemed welcoming. 

Of course it had to be snowing. Stan hated the winter. The cold had a way for settling deep within his bones that not even all of the clothing he owned (which really wasn’t a lot) could keep out. 

Not to mention he simply couldn’t afford to stay in a motel most of the time, and sleeping in his car with the heat on was out of the question as well. 

There was also something off about this town. Stan couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but when he had driven past the sign, he couldn’t ignore the weird feeling that slithered up his spine. 

Over the years, he had learned to trust his gut. If it weren’t for the fact that his brother had asked for him to come, he would have turned around and driven out of town. 

To be fair, it wasn’t like he had been driving in Gravity Falls long before his memory became fuzzy. He tried to recall any details, anything at all, but he couldn’t quite get past the holes in his memory. 

Oddly enough, he found himself standing outside of a strange, creepy looking cabin. Several windows were boarded up and there were signs warning against trespassers. The Stanleymobile was no where in sight and oddly enough, the cold didn’t seem to bite at him despite only wearing a thin, worn jacket. 

The house didn’t look at all inviting, yet something in his gut pulled him forwards. Even stranger yet, despite not seeing a number to the house or even a street sign, he somehow knew this was Ford’s house. 

With a shrug, Stan approached the house. His resolve shrank as he reached the door. 

“You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years.” Stan murmured to himself, taking a breath to steel his resolve, “It’s okay. He’s family. He won’t bite.” 

He raised his fist to knock on the door. Instead of knocking, as he had intended, his hand went through the door. 

“What the—“ 

He tried again. His fist went through the wood again, making no sound. 

He pulled his hand back and examined it before glancing back to the door. 

Third time was a charm... right?

He knocked with such force that he stumbled, falling halfway through the door. With a grunt, he pulled himself through and found himself within the cabin. 

He glanced back to the door, still closed, and stared. His thoughts screeched to a halt, unable to come up with an explanation as to why he just phased through a door. 

If this really is Stanford’s house, Ma did say Ford was studying anomalies. Leave it to Ford to have some weird door. 

He’d also been driving for nearly two days with only a few hours of sleep. 

Yeah, that sounded right. Chalking it up to that, Stan turned his attention back to the room around him. The house was dark, and cluttered with all sorts of important looking science-y things that looked more science fiction than nonfiction. 

“Ford?” He called loudly, “Uh, I think something’s up with your door.” 

He waited for his brothers response, but got none. 

Maybe his brother was out of the house at the moment. Usually people stocked up their food supplies before a big snowstorm, but Ford did have a tendency to get wrapped up in his work and forget that kind of thing. 

At least he had back in high school. 

Stan was going to ignore the treacherous voice in his head that reminded him that over a decade had passed since he’d last seen or heard from his twin. Ford could be totally different than what he remembered. 

The house was silent as he hesitantly wandered further in. Notes and specimens were scattered all throughout the room, much like the first room. 

The nosy part of Stan wanted to stop and look. Apart from the small snippets his mother told him over the phone, he knew nothing of the life his twin was living. The temptation to see what his twin was up to was too strong. 

Leaning over a desk, he glanced at the papers and books scattered across the surface. Ford’s handwriting was still recognizable, to Stan’s satisfaction. The numerous sheets of meticulous notes was also recognizable, and it was good to know that some things didn’t change. 

The sheet he had picked up was full of some sort of equations that made no sense to Stan so he quickly put it down. 

Turning his back to the table, Stan made his way to the hallway. 

“Ford?” He called again as he traveled deeper into the house, “I got your postcard.”

There was a sound from a room further down the hall. 

Stan laughed awkwardly as he slowly approached the room, “Stanford? You didn’t call me all the way out to your creepy cabin in the woods just to kill me, did ya?” 

He peeked around the corner into the room he heard the noise originate from. A man stood with his back to him, urgently flipping through notes and textbooks strewn across a desk. 

“Ford?” Stan asked again, a twinge of concern bleeding through his voice. Ford’s movements were frantic. He was muttering under his breath, his words too low for Stan to hear what he was saying. 

Ford still hadn’t responded to him yet Stan found that any anger from being ignored that rose within him tapered away as soon as it came. 

“Hey,” his voice was more gentle as she spoke again. With slow, purposeful steps, he stepped into the room and approached his twin, “You okay, bro?” 

Ford’s movements didn’t falter, even as Stan stood just arms length away behind him. Swallowing thickly, Stan reached out to put his hand on his twins shoulder— a gesture they had shared numerous times growing up. 

Only his hand phased through his twins shoulder, just as it had the front door. 

Ford didn’t even react; it was as if he wasn’t even there, but he was standing right behind him! Stan was talking to him! 

Stan’s jaw dropped as he tried to comprehend what was happening. He lifted his hand in front of his face, staring at it. Scrutinizing it in detail, yet all he saw was a normal hand. 

Hesitantly, he tried touching Ford with his other hand, but again, his hand phased through. 

Panic was slowly creeping up the back of his throat. 

“Ford!” He spoke again, voice steadily rising, “Stanford, please! What’s— what the hells happening?” 

Ford finally turned around, and for a moment, relief flooded through Stan. 

“Oh thank God! This is a trick, isn’t it? One of your weird science-y things, right? Boy, you really had m—“

Stan was cut off as Ford stepped right through him. Distantly, he could hear Ford’s footsteps fade as he walked out of the room and down the hall, but he could barely think beyond what just happened. 

He stood frozen to the spot, his breaths steadily increasing in his panic.

What the hell was happening to him? First he had no idea how he even got to Ford’s house, then he had phased through the door. Ford hadn’t even heard him when he called his name, and now even his own twin was walking through him as if he wasn’t there. As if he was a— 

A ghost. 

The realization finally hit, causing Stan to stiffen. 

With renewed desperation, he tried searching back in his memories for anything beyond driving past the sign welcoming him to Gravity Falls. His memories were still shrouded just out of reach, but the distant echoing of the screech of car tires on snow covered black top echoed in the back of his head. 

Just that recollection in itself was jarring enough to cause him to stagger to a nearby chair and sink against it. With some grace of luck, he didn’t phase through that. 

Dead. 

He really was dead. 

His brain bulked at the thought, not allowing itself to really accept what he knew, deep down, must be true. 

He couldn’t be dead. Sure, he had a few close calls over the years, but to die just miles down the road from his twin who had asked to see him seemed crueler than dying in the locked trunk of a car abandoned in a desert. 

An angry yell tore through his throat as he gripped at his mullet. This wasn’t fair! All he had ever wanted for ten long years was to hear from his brother, to get a chance to make up for his mistakes and finally get to be brothers again. 

He’d finally had an opportunity to do just that. Ford had finally wanted to talk to him and had sent him a post card to come see him. It was the chance he had been waiting for for so long. He should have figured he’d never get that chance. 

Good things didn’t happen to Stan Pines. 

He knew this as a fact. If a good thing ever did happen to him, it just meant he had further to fall when he inevitably hit rock bottom again. 

It was so unfair to be so close to his brother, just a hairs width away from the twin he had missed for ten long years, yet not be able to talk to him. 

Stanford. 

Oh right. Ford had finally contacted him after ten long years. He’d be waiting for Stan to arrive, not knowing that he’d never come. 

He’d probably think that Stan ignored him. It wasn’t like Stan had thought to call and tell him he was coming, despite having his number. 

Stan also doubted that whoever found his body would be able to contact his family. He didn’t even know if he had an ID with his actual name on it, rather than one of the many aliases he used. Not to mention, he didn’t have anyone in his family registered to receive a call if something happened to him. 

The best chance he had was that whoever found him would recognize that he looked near identical to Ford (if Ford had a mullet). 

Assuming that his face was still recognizable. 

Stan shivered at the thought. 

“Ok, think Stan.” He mumbled to himself, “So you’re dead and somehow at Ford’s house. He’ll know what to do; you just have to find a way to talk to him.” 

The only downside was he knew nothing about ghosts. Or nothing practical, really. Sure, he’d seen a lot of ghost movies growing up. What did they always do in movies? 

Looking around the room, he spotted a blanket folded over a couch. Maybe if he could throw that over himself, Ford would be able to see his form. 

Hurrying over to the couch, he reached for the blanket. Instead of being able to grasp the fabric, his hands phased through, eliciting a growl of frustration. He tried again, and got the same affect. 

“Aw, come on!” He took a swing at the blanket, and though his fist phased through, he could have sworn he saw the blanket move slightly, as if a breeze had ruffled the fabric. 

If that was all he could do, that wouldn’t exactly help him. 

Frustration rising in his throat, he stormed after Ford instead. He could hear his twin riffling through some of his papers in the front room, and followed the sound. 

“Ford!” He yelled, as loud and as bellowing as he could, “Earth to Stanford! Hello! I’m right here!” 

He positioned himself through the desk that Ford was bent over, waving his arms in Ford’s face frantically and making as much noise as he possibly could. 

“Stanford, come on! I’m right in front of you! You’ve got to see me!” Stan yelled, a desperate edge to his voice. 

Being this close to his brother, he could see how much time had changed him. He had grown wider since he’d last seen him, his broad chest and shoulders filling out that trench coat he was wearing. His hair was a rumpled mess and his eyes were bloodshot as they desperately searched the papers on the desk. 

“Come on, it’s got to be here.” Ford muttered to himself, taking a six fingered hand through his messy hair, only causing it to stick up even further. 

Yeesh, just what happened to his brother? He looked like Ma after her tenth cup of coffee. 

Ford’s eyes suddenly lit up, “Aha!” He yelled, reaching a hand through Stan (causing his twin to stumble back a step) and pulling his hand back with a paper in his gasp. 

Turning his back to Stan, he paced the length of the floor as he scrutinized the papers contents, muttering to himself. 

“Hey Ford.” Stan spoke again, voice somewhat dropping as he tentatively approached his frantic twin, “What’s going on? You’re actin’ pretty weird, bro.” 

He got no response from his twin. Of course he wouldn’t. Ford hadn’t even heard him when he was yelling. It was foolish to think he could hear him now, but somehow Stan found it somewhat comforting to talk to his twin after all this time, even if he didn’t hear a word he said. 

“Useless!” Ford spat as he threw the paper to the floor. Hands gripped at his hair desperately. Stan took a step towards his twin, a hand raised to rest on his shoulder, desperately wanting to comfort him. At last minute, his hand stilled. 

He didn’t think he could take watching his hand phase through his brother. Not when he wanted to comfort him so badly. 

“Calm down, Stanford.” His brother coached himself, “Focus on your intellect.”

Stan couldn’t help but snort at that comment. Of course Ford would focus on that. 

“Stanley will be here soon. He’ll be able to help; you just have to wait until then.” Ford said, finally making his way to a desk. He sank his weight onto the surface and hunched in on himself, looking more desperate and helpless then Stan ever remembered seeing him. 

Stan felt as through a knife had been twisted into his heart. His brother needed his help. Desperately. Whatever was going on had him more wound up and stressed than anything he had memory of, and yet after all these years, his twin was counting on him to come and help. 

Yet Ford had no idea that Stan wouldn’t be coming. Not really, anyways. Stan was here, yet he never felt more useless in his life. He couldn’t do anything to help his twin in this state, probably because Stan did something stupid like run his car off the road and get himself killed. 

Heaving a sigh, Stan crossed to where Ford was sitting on the desk, curled in on himself. With some hesitation, he sat down beside his twin. He didn’t have the heart to try to touch his twin again, knowing that his hand would just pass through. 

So he settled to sit shoulder to shoulder with his twin. Just that simple action reminded him of nights long passed when he and Ford used to sit on the swing set by the beach, talking about anything and everything. He hoped the gesture would do something to comfort his twin, but even if not, it at least gave him some comfort to be so close to his twin. 

He could at least pretend that things were as they used to be. Even if just for a moment before the image was shattered by reality. 

“I’m sorry, Stanford,” he said, hating the way his voice quivered with emotion, “I’m not coming. But I’ll find a way to help you. I promise.” 

He looked up. Ahead of him was the front door he had entered through. He hadn’t noticed before, but there was a loaded cross bow propped up by the side of the door. The sight of it drew another helpless sigh from him. 

He didn’t know what happened to make Ford feel the need to keep a weapon by the door, but it was a sentiment that Stan could understand seeing as he always kept a bat or his brass knuckles nearby. 

“Whatever’s got you so worked up, we’ll figure it out.” He said, his voice feeling heavy in the deafening silence, “I won’t be leaving; it’s us against the world. Always has been, always will be.”


	2. Chapter 2

Stan hadn’t anticipated that being a ghost would be so boring. 

Following Ford around when he couldn’t interact with him at all could only entertain him for so long. At some point, he decided that if he wanted to make good on his promise to Ford, he’d have to figure out his new capabilities. 

That being said, it was easier said then done. So far he knew he could phase through things, and he accidentally ruffled the blanket but that wouldn’t exactly do him any good. 

Curiously, he didn’t phase through objects when he sat on them. He couldn’t quite figure out why that was, but he wasn’t going to question it. He wouldn’t have been thrilled at the idea of having to stand for the rest of eternity. 

Ford had eventually wandered off to another part of the house, leaving Stan in the front room by himself. He tried picking up a pen sitting a few feet away from it but his hand phased through it, as he had expected. 

Maybe if he tried focusing more on his hand, he could touch it. He stared intently at his fingertips, concentrating on picking up the pen as he reached out again. 

Yet again, his hand passed through. 

He knew he had no need to breathe anymore, but the motion came out of habit as he let out a short exhale in frustration. 

He didn’t have time to burn. Technically, he supposed he technically was already out of time. But for some reason, he was still here, existing even if it was as a mere shadow of his living self. 

Ford needed him. That much was obvious. He was counting on him to help him with whatever had him looking so ragged and worn down. 

Being dead wasn’t going to stop Stan from helping his twin if he needed him. 

Channeling his thoughts back to the task at hand, he focused on his hand yet again. As his hand hovered above the pen, he concentrated on his fingers, imagining what it felt like to be solid and tangible, what it felt like to curl his fingers around the pen and move it.

His concentration didn’t waver as he reached for the pen. To his shock, he felt the smooth surface of the pen under his finger tips, but in his excitement, his concentration broke and his hand passed through yet again. 

However, his excitement couldn’t be dampened. He had actually managed to touch it! 

With a renewed vigor, he tried again. His concentration was more schooled this time, not wavering even as he touched the pen yet again. 

Keeping his breath steady, he curled his finger around the pen and lifted it from the desk. 

Though the pen should have weighed next to nothing, the action sapped him of his strength. With a gasp, the pen fell to the desk as it phased through his hand. 

Similarly to breathing, he knew he didn’t have a physical body anymore, let alone a heart or blood, but he could feel his heart pumping in his chest like a phantom memory. 

Yeesh, he didn’t even feel this tired at the end of a long day. 

Yet his exhaustion didn’t deter his excitement. At least now he knew what he had to do if he wanted to move an object. Unfortunately, he also knew that he was probably only limited to small objects at occasional intervals. 

However, there were few things he knew about his new life (or maybe afterlife was more appropriate), that even knowing what his limitations were was a good thing. 

At least now he could try to move things to let Ford know he was here. 

Curiously, he wondered if he’d be able to move heavier objects or move objects more frequently if he practiced. 

The idea seemed reasonable at least. 

Satisfied with this new progression, Stan decided it was about time he checked up on Ford. 

He wandered off in the direction he saw Ford go to when he left the front entry room. He passed through several rooms which showed no sign of his brother amongst all of the science-y clutter. 

Scratching his head, he wondered if Ford had walked passed him without him noticing. The rooms didn’t lead to any other rooms, apart from what looked like storage closets or back outside. 

Peaking through a window at the storm still raging outside, he hoped his brother hadn’t left. 

Then again, it wasn’t like Ford was acting himself. His twin was the dumbest genius he knew, so it shouldn’t surprise him too much if he went out in a snow storm. 

He reached for the doorknob, letting out a small grunt as his hand passed through. Until he got his strength back and practiced being able to manipulate his surroundings, he was going to have to remember to phase through things. 

Old habits died hard, he supposed. 

Passing through the door, he found himself standing on another small porch. Snow covered where he assumed steps would be, and to his satisfaction, he found that there was no footprints in the snow. 

So at least Ford hadn’t been dumb enough to go outside. 

That still meant that he had no idea where Ford had gone off too. 

Scratching his head in thought, he distantly realized that he couldn’t feel the cold still. He really should have questioned why he hadn’t felt the cold when he had been standing in the middle of the storm when he had been freezing in his car on the way here.

If it had been Ford in his position, he was sure his twin would have realized he was dead sooner. He was the smart twin for a reason, after all. 

Shoving down his self deprecating thoughts, a new idea popped in his head. 

If he could leave footprints in the snow, maybe he could spell out a message for Ford. 

As he stepped off the porch, he heard no familiar crunching of snow beneath his feet. Glancing down, he found that his feet (huh, how hadn’t he realized that he could see through his feet until now) stood in the snow, yet left no tracks. 

Great. There goes another idea. 

“God dammit!” Stan yelled, kicking and stomping his feet in the snow. 

He glared up at the pale sky, “I bet this is real funny to you, huh?” 

Sure, he might have been raised Jewish, but somewhere along the road in his travels, he had lost his faith. 

Now he was stuck in limbo, yet he was convinced maybe this was his own personal hell. He was just as invisible to Ford as he had been in life. Even his afterlife was some cruel joke. 

Glancing back to the house, he knew he should go back in and look for Ford. Yet the idea of going back into the house didn’t appeal to him at all, not when even a cockroach could see or hear him let alone his brother. 

With a sharp turn of his head, he stomped off through the snow. He didn’t know what direction his car might be in, but in a town as small as Gravity Falls, he could eventually find it. Then maybe he’d at least get some sort of answers. 

He hadn’t even made it towards the edge of the clearing the house stood in when he started to feel something pulling him back, as if a tether was yanking him back towards the house. 

Gritting his teeth, he pushed against it. In one moment, he was trudging his way through the snow covered yard, but in the next, he found himself standing back on the porch. 

“What the—!” 

With renewed determination, he leaped off the porch and took off running across the yard. 

Yet again, he only got so far before he found himself back on the porch. 

“Aw, come on!” He yelled, kicking at one of the wooden support beams of the porch. 

So he was stuck to the house it seemed. Or maybe it was Ford himself. Even in death, he was still chained to his brother. 

“Fine. Okay. So you’re stuck here.” Stan mumbled to himself, pacing the short distance of the porch, “This ain’t so bad. You can keep an eye on Ford; it’s not like he’s going to be leavin’ anytime soon.” 

No matter how much he tried to tell himself that this was fine, that he was fine, he knew it wasn’t true. 

He felt like it truly hasn’t sunk in that he’s dead. It still feels like he’s going to wake up in his car and this will have all been just a terrible dream. 

But he somehow knew it wasn’t a dream. He’d had plenty of dreams involving Ford. On the best days, he’d dream of old memories, or of the two of them making up and becoming brothers again. 

His worst dreams, however, were the ones where Ford would look at him with a burning disappointment. His glasses hid his eyes behind a glare, similarly to the way his fathers had. 

“You’re pathetic,” Ford would spit out at him, “You really thought I’d ever want you back in my life after you messed it up? Why would I want some dumb, useless twin who’d only ever pull me down? I’m better off without you.” 

Stan shivered at the thought. 

At least in his dreams, Ford acknowledged him. Being ignored was its own kind of hell. 

He supposed he should be used to it. People tended to want to forget that people like him existed. Hell, his own family probably pretended he didn’t exist. 

For the first time, he realized that there would be no one to mourn him now that he was dead. His body would probably be some nameless John Doe thrown in a potters field to rot. 

He wondered if he’d even be lucky to get a tomb stone. 

A deep sigh escaped his lips. His shoulders shrank in on himself as he turned and let himself pass through the door back into the shack. 

He had half a mind to curl up on the couch he had seen earlier. He doubted he could sleep anymore, but maybe he could find some sort of comfort in laying down. 

He started making his way to the doorway when one of the closet doors against the walls opened with a loud creak. 

With a jump, Stan turned to watch a frenzied Ford exiting the door with a stash of messy papers and notebooks piled in his arms. Before the door was shut and locked behind him, Stan caught a glimpse of a staircase descending downstairs. 

Huh, he hadn’t thought this place would have a basement. 

Ford hurried through the doorway and disappeared from his sight. He probably should follow after him, but something was tugging his attention back to the door, similar to the force that had kept him from leaving the shack. 

Glancing in the direction Ford had just dashed off too, Stan slowly approached the door. It really didn’t seem like anything special apart from having a key pad to enter a code into. 

Luckily for him, locked doors meant even less in death then they had when he was alive. 

Passing through the door, he found himself standing atop of a flight of stairs descending further into the house. 

With some hesitation, he made his way down the stairs until he came to an elevator. 

With a sigh, he pinched his nose, “Never could do things the normal way, can ya Sixer?” 

Once again, he phased through the door until he was standing in the elevator. Another keypad was installed into the control panel, temporarily stalling Stan’s descent. According to the controls, there was three floors. 

“Yeesh, talk about overkill.” 

Well, if he could phase through doors, he didn’t see why floors would be a problem. 

It took more conscious thought than going through a door, it seemed. With a bit of concentration, Stan slowly started to sink through the floor into the elevator shaft. 

Packed earth passed him in his descent until he finally reached the bottom. With some amusement, he realized he could float rather than need to walk. 

So being dead at least had some perks. 

Floating through the elevator door, he entered into a control room that looked like it was straight out of NASA. 

Monitors lining the sides of the room blinked at him in the darkness, providing him with some minuscule amount of light (though it didn’t help to make the place look any less creepy). 

He gave a low whistle as he slowly floated through the room, feeling a bit unnerved that all of this belonged to Ford. 

It looked more like a mad scientists lair than any lab he had ever seen. 

But who was he kidding? Apart from movies, he’d never seen an actual lab. 

There was a strange feeling nagging at him, some force still drawing him forward through a door at the opposite end of the room. 

What was Ford hiding so far beneath his house? 

As he neared the door, he noticed that there was a large window above what looked to be a control panel, but the room on the other side was too dark for him to make out what was on the other side. 

Part of him didn’t want to find out. Whatever was on the other side of the wall gave him a bad feeling. 

There was never a good reason to have three levels hidden in the basement. Not to mention locked behind at least two key pads. Whatever Ford had down here, he was probably hiding it for a good reason. 

All the more reason that Stan needed to find out. 

Something had Ford real messed up, desperate enough to call on his fuck up of a twin brother whom he hadn’t talked to in a decade to ask for his help. 

Stan had made a promise to Ford, and Stan might not always be a man of his word, but when it came to his brother, he’d make good on his promise. 

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he passed through the door into the other room. 

Without all of the flashing lights from the monitors, the room was significantly darker than the previous one. 

Even as a ghost, it seemed his eyes needed to adjust to the darkness. 

Slowly, he began to make out the shapes of the walls, if they really could be called that. Bare rock surrounded him, stretching high into the ceiling. Wires and poles climbed up the rock face, leading to a large upside down triangular structure on the opposite end of the door. 

Stan’s jaw dropped at the sheer size of the structure. He’d traveled all around the world but he’d never seen anything like this before. 

“There’s nothing about this I understand.” 

Even though the machine appeared to be off, Stan could feel an intense amount of energy and power crackling from the dormant structure. 

Despite knowing no one could see him, even if there was anyone else down in the basement, he could feel eyes burning into his back. 

A prickling feeling traveled up the back of his neck and he forced himself to avert his eyes from the machine. Nothing about this was right. It was no wonder Ford was so worked up. Stan was unsettled just at the mere sight of the machine; he couldn’t imagine how much worse that feeling would be if he knew what it’s purpose was. 

He knew without a doubt that there was no good reason for this thing to exist. 

“Oh Ford,” he groaned, “What did you get yourself into?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Go to sleep.” Stan groaned, not for the first time. His eyes followed his twin as he paced across the length of the room. He was even twitchier than before, which Stan hadn’t thought was possible. 

By the time he had floated back to the ground floor, night had fallen. He hadn’t thought he had been in the basement for that long, but who knows, maybe time passed differently now that he was dead. 

He was beginning to realize he had much larger questions that needed answers then to be worried about trivial things like that. 

The storm outside was still in full swing and he was once again glad that he no longer felt the cold. 

Eventually he had wandered back through the house in search of Ford, and when he did, his already increased concern continued to mount. 

It was late, yet Ford showed no signs of having any intention to rest. A cup of coffee was clutched in his hands, spilling dark droplets onto the wood as his hands trembled. A low mutter fell from his lips, too jumbled for Stan to make out what he was saying most of the time, apart from “can’t sleep” and “he’s watching me”. 

Did Ford finally realize he was here? It was one thing to accidentally ignore him, but to purposefully ignore him set his metaphorical blood boiling. 

“Hey, you asshole!” He yelled, “You’re the one who called me here. The least you could do is acknowledge me!”

He hovered in front of Ford, intending to block his path. If Ford was ignoring him, he was doing a damn good job. He didn’t even so much as glance in his direction or flinch as he walked straight through him. 

With a reserved sigh, Stan took up a seat at a near by chair, where he found himself now, perhaps an hour later. 

He had deduced that Ford was not in fact ignoring him. At some point, he had poured himself over a spread of notes, mumbling to himself. 

His shoulders were drawn in tense around him, and every so often, his head would jerk to the side, staring off into the dim corners of the room as if he could see or hear something that Stan couldn’t. 

“Relax, Stanford.” His twin coached himself, “You can’t sleep. He’s waiting for you there.” 

“Bro, come on, you’re smarter than this,” Stan chastised him, “You probably need sleep more than anything right now.” 

He could only imagine how long it’s been since Ford last slept for more than a few minutes. 

“Go to sleep.” Stan groaned. That was how his mantra started. Even if Ford couldn’t hear him, he hoped that saying it enough would somehow subconsciously influence his brother to sleep. 

“Go to sleep.”

He spotted a balled up sheet of notepaper on the floor beside a full waste bin. Floating to it, he focused on the paper ball. 

After several attempts, his hands finally felt the ridges of the crumpled up ball. With some effort, he lifted the ball from the floor. Grunting, he tossed the ball in Ford’s direction, but the projectile only made it maybe a foot away from him before pathetically falling to the ground. 

Ford’s head snapped around as the paper landed on the floor with a soft, barely audible sound. 

“Who’s there?” He snapped, bloodshot eyes darting frantically around the room. 

Seeing his chance, Stan waved his arms, “Ford! It’s me! It’s Stanley!” 

Ford’s eyes sweeped around the room once more before he reluctantly turned back around. 

“You’re losing your mind, Stanford.” His twin muttered to himself miserably. 

“At least that makes two of us.” Stan groaned, deflating in his seat. Just picking up the crumpled paper has sapped him of his energy again. Leaning over the table he sat at, he propped his elbows on the table and let his head sink into his hands. 

“You’re just as useless dead as you were when you were alive.” Stan mumbled to himself miserably. 

A coffee mug slid into his periphery as a six fingered hand deposited it onto the table. Lifting his gaze, he watched Ford sink into the chair opposite of him with a loud sigh. 

Ford mirrored Stan as he propped his elbows on the table and let his head rest in his hands. Maybe the similarities in their movements even after ten long years, or maybe just the close proximity should have brought Stan some comfort but it did little to chase off the empty loneliness that festered in his chest. 

Is this how he was going to be doomed to spend the rest of eternity? Ignored. Invisible. Silent. Useless. Forgotten. 

It had only maybe been a day since he had died and the thought of spending another day, let alone eternity, like this was unbearable. 

He couldn’t even wrap his brain around the idea of eternity. Ford’s lifetime would be but a blink of an eye in comparison to the long stretch of time to come after. And then what would he do? 

Helplessness overwhelmed him, wrapping its icy tendrils around his heart and constricting. 

“Get a grip on yourself, Stan.” He pleaded to himself, fingers tangling in his hair as he let his head sink further into his hands. His shoulders hunched up, trying to make himself as small as possible. Distantly, he wished he could disappear. 

“No.” Stan firmly told himself, trying to shake the treacherous thought from his brain. Stan Pines didn’t give up. He had a job to do. 

Ford needed him. Whatever that damn machine in the basement was for, it certainly wasn’t for anything good. The stress was obviously eating away at his twin, driving him mad. 

Stan could deal with the impossible implications of eternity after he helped Ford. 

With a breath, he forced the tendrils that had been gripping his heart back, replacing it with determination. 

As he lifted his head, he was surprised to see that his twin had nodded off, slumped over the table. 

“About time.” Stan grumbled. 

Think, Stan. You need a game plan.

First thing first, he needed to find a way to somehow communicate to his twin that he was here. 

He was slowly getting the hang of his new ghost powers. Phasing through things was easy enough, but that wouldn’t help him here. He needed to be able to move objects better. 

At least he had figured out how to do so, in theory. The problem now was that he didn’t have the strength to move anything for extended periods of time, not to mention he could only move objects if they were small and light. 

He was also exhausted afterwards, as if he only had enough energy for one small burst before it faded away. 

He’d just have to keep practicing. Hopefully with some time, he’d get stronger. 

A movement across from him broke his train of thought. His twin lifted his head from he desk and looked at him. 

Stan’s eyes flickered to the side before glancing back at his twin. His gaze unnerved him— it was as if Ford was staring right at him with a weird grin on his lips. 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t Fez. You’re looking a little spectral-ly; did ya die or something?” His twin gave a laugh. 

Stan’s jaw dropped as he blinked dumbly. 

“You can se—“

“Of course I can see you!” Ford interrupted him, grin curling in a way that made Stan’s lips ache just to see it. 

Something wasn’t right. 

“Don’t be fooled; I’m not Stanford. No, no.” Ford waggled a finger at him, “I’m just wearing your brothers meat suit while he’s not using it. The names Bill Cipher.”

Wearing his twins what—? Stan’s eyes squinted at the man across from him. 

“How do I know you’re not actually Ford?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well— I’d usually offer you the knowledge of the exact date and time of your death, but I can see that you already know that.” His brother said with a laugh, “Instead, I’ll just explain; I’m your brothers research partner, or muse. I’m like you; I don’t have a body to use but good ol’ six fingers here let’s me borrow his while he’s not using it.”

“That still doesn’t explain what you are.” Stan pointed out. 

Bill laughed, “Boy, you sure are sharper than Fordsy gives you credit for. That’s where things get tricky. You see, your kind doesn’t have a word for what I am. I’m beyond anything most mortals have comprehension of, but I can see you and your brother aren’t like most mortals.” 

Stan cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m a being of pure energy. Kinda like you, but with way cooler powers. Like you, I don’t have a body of my own in this dimension, which is why Fordsy let’s me borrow his.” 

“So what, I’m supposed to believe that you’re just some weird super ghost that’s here just to help my brother out of the kindness of your heart?” Stan asked, skepticism bleeding into his tone. 

“Please, I don’t have a heart. And if I did, I’d need like, ten.” Bill laughed, “But no, Ford’s helping me out. We have the same goal, you see. Your brother over here has been researching the weird things in this little town and I have the key to all of his questions. That machine you saw downstairs is the answer, and he’s helping me out by getting that machine working.” 

A chill ran down Stan’s back, “How did you—“

“Know that I saw you?” Bill cut him off with a cocked eyebrow. Stan slowly nodded, “I already told you; I’m like you. I can see you, but you can’t see me. Not unless I have a vessel.” 

Bill leaned over the table, the ever-present grin on his lips, “It’s frustrating, isn’t it?”

“What?” Stan asked, leaning away ever so slightly. Seeing that grin unnerved him. It was almost inhuman. 

“To be invisible, duh!” Bill explained, “To be right in front of someone and for them to not see you. I can help you though.”

“You can?” Stan asked. He tried to stuff down the hope he felt rising in his gut. Something about this wasn’t quite right. 

“Sure I can! I can make it so that Ford can see you! That’s what you want, right? To not be invisible anymore?”

Stan reluctantly nodded. 

Of course that’s what he wanted. But if he had learned anything over the last decade, it was that if a deal was probably too good to be true, it probably wasn’t. 

“What’s in it for you?” Stan asked. 

“I need Fordsy here to finish that machine, but you know how fragile these flesh sacks are. I just need you to help Ford and get him well enough so he can get back to work. Easy, right?” 

Too easy, in fact. 

“If you don’t even have a body, how do I know you can actually get me one?” Stan asked skeptically. 

Bill laughed again, “I have my ways, Fez. So what, do we have a deal?”

A six fingered hand reached across the table. That same grin was still on Ford’s lips. 

“No.” The answer left Stan’s lips without needing to think. 

“No?” Bill said, grin finally beginning to slip, “What do you mean ‘no’? You want to help your brother, don’t you?”

Stan leaned back into the seat, away from the thing sitting across from him. “Well, yeah,” he said, “But I know a conman when I see one. Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll find a way to help Ford on my own.”

Six fingers balled into a fist and slowly inched back to the edge of the table. Bill’s eyes dangerously narrowed at him and for the first time, Stan noticed the yellow tint to his eyes, as well as his slitted pupils. 

“Huh, and here I thought you were smarter than that.” 

Stan laughed coldly, “Sorry to disappoint, but I may not be as smart as my twin, but I’m smart enough to know not to make a bad deal.”

Anger flashed in Bills eyes for a brief second before it tapered away. “Fine. But think on this, Stanley Pines. You’re going to grow tired of being ignored. When you do, I’ll be here to make a deal.”

Stan barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, “Ford’s ignored me for the last ten years. I’m used to it. You can take your deal and shove it, ‘cause I’m not interested.” 

Two pairs of six fingered hands slammed into the table. “You really are as dumb as Ford thinks. I thought six fingers was wrong about you, but I can see he was right.”

Ok, ouch. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Ford thought he was dumb, but to hear it be confirmed hurt. 

Bill hissed as he leaned back into the chair. “He’s waking.” He growled quietly. “Just remember, I’ll be watching you, fez. I’ll make sure you regret not taking my offer.” 

“Doubt it.”

Ford’s eyes shut as his head slumped forward. Stan was silent as he watched, eyes wide. A soft groan sounded a few moments later as Ford blinked his eyes open. 

He looked even more tired than before, Stan noticed sympathetically. His twin ground a fist into his eye with another groan. 

As his hand came away, it was spotted with blood. Both twins eyed the offensive scarlet smear with wide eyes. 

Blood slowly trickled from the corner of Ford’s eyes. 

“Shit!” Ford hissed, abruptly standing from the table, “He was here.” 

His twin dashed off to another room with a hand pressed over his eye. Stan quickly floated after him. He watched as Ford burst into the bathroom, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the sink. 

Stan hovered behind his twin as Ford stared into the mirror with an expression of horror. 

Distantly, Stan realized that he couldn’t see his own reflection in the mirror. 

Ford swiped a trembling hand across his eye, smearing the blood across his face. 

Stan reached out, not surprised as his hand passed through Ford’s shoulder. 

His twin shivered. 

“Just hold on, Ford,” Stan murmured to his twins reflection, “We’ll figure this out.”


	4. Chapter 4

A week had creeped by at an agonizingly slow pace. Stan had all but thrown himself into practicing lifting and manipulating objects. It wasn’t like he had anything better, or else to do, for that matter. 

He’d made some progress at the least, but it wasn’t anything near what he wanted. He was still too weak to hold objects for long, too weak to move anything that wasn’t lightweight. 

Certainly not enough for his brother to notice anyways. He’d tried to make his brother aware of his presence with little success. All of his efforts were brushed off as Ford forgetting where he had left things around the house. 

It was growing frustrating. 

Trying to keep track of Ford wasn’t much better. He barely slept and in the weeks time, he only recalled his twin taking a shower maybe once. 

That was also the only time he bothered to change his clothes. 

Stan knew he had no room to judge his twin for his hygiene habits, but at least Ford had access to a shower and washing machine. Both of those were rare luxuries when Stan had been alive. 

Curiously, the news of his death never reached the cabin. After a while he noticed that Ford didn’t receive a newspaper in his mail, and no other letters informing his twin of Stan’s death arrived. 

If Ford wasn’t notified, he doubted his parents knew. Pa wouldn’t care, but his Ma would. She had always sounded so excited to hear from him. He wondered how long it would take for her to not receive a call from him before she put two and two together. 

It gave him some sort of comfort that at least Ma would mourn him, even if he wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on her. It was still nice to know that his death wouldn’t go completely unnoticed. 

A small thud from the other room sounded. Floating into the room, Stan spotted Ford bent over a calendar he must have ripped from the wall and thrown to the table. 

“This can’t be right.” Ford mumbled to himself, fingers tracing over the dates. “He should have been here by now. Where the hell is Stan?” 

Stan winced. 

“Ford...” he said, his words hanging in the empty air. He didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter really. It wasn’t like Ford could hear him anyways. 

With a growl, Ford shoved the calendar off the table. “I should have figured he wouldn’t show.” He hissed, “I gave him the opportunity to do one worthwhile thing in his life and he blew me off!” 

There was a moment of silence as his words sunk in. A moment of silence before all hell broke loose. 

“One worthwhile thing?” Stan snapped, not believing the words he heard. The words stung even more now that he was dead, now that his life was over. 

Ford thought his whole life had been worthless, that he hadn’t done one thing that had been meaningful. Maybe he wasn’t some fancy scientist like him, but dammit, didn’t he mean anything to Ford? 

“You selfish asshole!” Stan yelled. He was unaware that the calendar shot from the floor clear across the room with his outburst, startling his brother. 

All he saw was fiery, red rage. 

“I drove for damn near two days straight to come to you the second I got your post card! I fucking died and you have the gall to thing I didn’t do anything worthwhile in my life!”

Papers flew into the air, books crashed to the ground, and the tables shook with his shouts. 

“I made one stupid mistake and you threw me away! I lost my family, my home, my fucking future. I’ve paid for my mistake tenfold and yet you still want to hang that over my head?”

Ford was crouched low to the ground, his arms raised to protect his head from the objects being thrown into the air. 

“Stop!” His twin yelled, but his cry fell on deaf ears. 

“Some brother you turned out to be! Did you even stop to think about me just once in the last ten years? Did you ever wonder what I was doing or if I was ok? If you didn’t need my help, would you have ever bothered to contact me?” 

A chair flew past Ford, just barely missing him as it crashed into the wall, splintering apart. 

“Stop it!” Ford yelled again. 

A book landed by Stan’s feet. Several pages blew past until something thicker stopped its momentum. 

Briefly, Stan glanced down, and when he did, his outburst stopped cold. 

Staring up at him was a picture worn with age. Two young sunburnt boys grinned up at him as they posed proudly beside a familiar sail boat with the words ‘Stan o’ War’ painted in a child’s handwriting. 

He recognized the gap tooth smile as his own. As his anger died, his senses slowly came back to him and he was suddenly aware of the affects of his outburst. Papers, books, and whatever other items that had been near him littered the ground. 

He was aware of this, yet his eyes never strayed from the young boy’s faces. Floating lower, his hand touched the surface of the picture. 

Ford had kept it all this time. He had always assumed that Ford must have thrown out anything that belonged or reminded Ford of him. 

In the silence that followed his outburst, Ford’s heavy breathing sounded loud in his ears. Looking to his twin fearfully crouched to the floor, Stan felt a pant of guilt. 

Since when had he been able to do this?

Slowly, Ford’s arms lowered as he raised himself from the floor. His eyes fell on the book the picture rested in and his mouth gaped. 

“No...” Ford’s whisper was only just audible. A six fingered hand roughly carded through his hair as his twin shook his head in shock. 

“This can’t be right.” Ford muttered, slightly louder. He dashed off to the next room, with Stan quickly hovering after him. 

“Ford, I-I’m sorry.” Stan said, voice thick with guilt, “I didn’t realize—“ 

Ford hurried to a shelf by the wall, hastily shoving objects aside. It looked as though he was searching for something. 

Curiosity egged Stan closer as he watched his twin root around until his eyes widened with an “aha!” 

He ripped a cord from the wall and hurried back to the previous room. A dusty AM radio was set on a nearby desk. 

“Ford, what the hell are you doing?” Stan asked, quirking an eyebrow as he watched Ford crouch down and struggle to plug the radio in with shaky hands. 

Had Stan’s outburst been the final straw? Did Ford lose his mind completely?

Straightening to his feet, Ford turned the dial to the radio. The sound of radio station filled the air, but abruptly changed to static as Ford turned the dial again. 

He spun around, eyes glancing around the room. “If there’s a spirit here, use this radio to give me a sign that you’re here.” 

So Ford had finally put it together that there was a ghost. About damn time too. 

But just how did he expect Stan to use the radio to talk to him? 

As the static droned on, Ford must have realized he’d need to provide an explanation. 

“You can use the static by manipulating it to let me hear your voice.” 

Ford made it sound so easy, but Stan highly doubted it was actually as easy as he made it seem. 

But still, he’d been trying all week to get his brother to just recognize that he was there. He hadn’t expected Ford to practically hand him a way for him to speak. 

Concentrating on the static, he could feel the energy crackling like pins and needles. Luckily he’d spent the past week getting better and better at concentrating his energy into objects that when he spoke, he could actually hear his voice crackling through the radio. 

“Hel-lo.” 

Ok, so maybe he should have picked something more profound to say to his brother for the first time, but he wasn’t even sure if it worked. 

Ford looked just as surprised as he felt as his voice broke through the static. 

“Oh wow.” Ford gasped. “So it was a ghost.” 

“No shit it’s a ghost. What else were you expecting.” Stan rolled his eyes at his twin. 

Ford ignored his comment, “Why are you here?” 

Stan briefly pondered the question. He knew why he had come to Gravity Falls, but he wasn’t sure why he’d become a ghost after he’d died, let alone get attached to Ford (or was it his house? He still wasn’t sure of that either).

“You asked me to come.” Stan said. 

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed curiously. He scratched his head, “I didn’t—“ he said, pausing again before continuing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stan heaved a sigh, only a little surprised as the sound came through the speaker, “Ford, it’s me. It’s Stanley.” 

Ford visibly stiffened. The color drained from his face. 

“Stanley?” He said, his name only a soft exhale, “What— how—“ 

Ford’s words trailed off as he started pacing in front of the radio. “How do I know you’re really Stan? How do I know you’re not—“

His twins sentence hung heavily, half finished in the air. 

‘Bill’, Stan mentally finished for him. Of course. He hadn’t considered Ford would think it was him. 

“High six?” Stan blurted out without thought. 

Ford’s pacing came to an abrupt halt as a hand clamped over Ford’s mouth. 

“Stanley? But how?” 

Stan winced. His brother’s voice cracked with raw emotion, sounding pitifully sad. 

He hadn’t thought Ford would be sad to find out he’d died. After all, Ford hadn’t bat an eye when he’d been kicked out of the house and hadn’t bothered to contact him in the decade since then. 

Then again, death did have a way to make people regret their choices of the past. Maybe his brother wasn’t the exception to that. 

“Don’t really know.” Stan said, after he realized he hadn’t answered his twin, “I don’t remember much after driving past the ‘Welcome to Gravity Falls’ sign.”

Stan wanted to make sure that much was clear. He had come when he’d received the post card. He needed Ford to know that. 

“It was stormin’ pretty bad when I came in. Must have wrapped my car around a tree or somethin’.”

Ford sank heavily into a nearby chair. His hand pushed underneath his glasses as he dragged his hand down his face. 

“You came...” 

“Of course I came.” Stan replied quickly. “I came as soon as I got your post card.”

Ford didn’t respond. His shoulders hunched as he shrunk into himself, covering his face with his hands. 

Stan hovered closer to his twin, stopping so close as to let his shoulder partially phase through his twin. Ford shivered. 

“Wait—“ Ford said, his head slowly peaking from behind his fingers, “Cold drafts, misplaced objects... how long have you been here?”

Stan snorted, “About a week. It’s about time you noticed. For a genius, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.”

There was nothing but teasing endearment behind his words, yet Ford reacted as thought he had spit venom at him. 

“You have no idea...”

“You talkin’ about that thing in the basement?” Stan asked before he could stop himself. 

Ford stiffened and his hands dropped. Stan could imagine that if Ford could see him, he would have leveled his shocked expression right at him. 

“How did you know about that?” Ford bristled. 

“I saw you come up from the basement shortly after I showed up here.” Stan explained, not sure how this wasn’t more obvious, “I’ve been more or less following you around for about a week now after all.”

Ford abruptly stood up from the chair, “That machine is the reason I called you here in the first place. I’ve made some mistakes and didn’t know who to trust.” 

The words tumbled from his twins mouth, hurrying to justify himself. 

“Woah, easy there, Poindexter.” Stan said, “I’m here now, ain’t I?”

Ford shook his head, “You don’t understand. I called you here to take my journal.” 

Pulling his trench coat back, he procured a thick, leather bound book from a pocket sewn to the inside. Ford’s head tilted down as he stared at the six fingered golden emblem on the front. 

“I’ve hidden the other journals. It’s imperative that this journal is hidden as well.”

Stan slowly turned his gaze from the journal to his twin as the dots started to connect. 

“So, you called me here to take some book?” Stan asked. 

Ford’s grip on the book tightened, “Yes.”

“So you called me all the way out here to take a book and leave? That’s what you’re telling me?” Stan asked. 

“Stanley, you don’t understand what I’m up against. What I’ve been through!” Ford didn’t confirm it outright, but he didn’t need to. 

The familiar hurt bubbled within Stan. Ford hadn’t needed his help, he hadn’t wanted to reconnect. He’d just wanted Stan to be his errand boy. He’d just wanted to use him. 

“What you’ve been through?” Stan spat, “In case you forgot, I’m dead, Stanford! I’m going to be stuck here with a mullet for eternity!”

Ford winced and for a moment had the decency to look dejected before it was quickly washed away with anger. 

“That’s what you’re concerned about? Being stuck with a mullet for eternity?” Ford retorted. 

A piece of paper tumbled past Ford’s feet as Stan’s anger spiked. 

“Yeah, Stanford. I’m concerned about that.” He growled back to his twin. 

“Do you have any idea what’s at stake here? The fate of the whole world—no—universe is in the balance and you’re concerned about something as petty as that?” Ford quickly tucked his journal back into his coat. 

“I’m concerned that I’m dead, Stanford!” Stan yelled. Unlike before, he was aware of the papers rapidly blowing past his twin, but this time he didn’t care, “I drove for two days straight to get here. I thought you’d want to reconnect after ten years, but instead you only wanted me to do a favor for you. Then what? You’d never talk to me until you needed me to do something else for you?”

Notebooks, still where they had landed after Stan’s previous outburst began to move as Stan continued. 

“I don’t know why you looked so upset that I was dead before. What would it matter to you if I was alive or not when I might as well not even exist to you?” 

Ford opened his mouth to reply but the words died on his lips. His whole posture seemed to deflate as he heaved a sigh. 

“You’re right.” 

Wait— what? 

Since when did Ford ever admit that he was right. 

His anger tapered off and the papers swirling around the room fell to the floor. 

Ford sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck, “You’re right,” he repeated, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

Stan’s gaze followed as Ford walked to a book still open on the floor. He flipped a few pages until he found the worm photograph from before. His thumb brushed over the image of the two boys with a look of regret on his face. 

“We used to be so close.” He said, voice cracking, “Inseparable. Everything had been so much simpler then.”

A tear splashed down to the photo. Ford didn’t bother to wipe it away, and Stan couldn’t find any words to speak. 

“I had no intention to let this— this silence between us last for the rest of our lives, you know.” Ford continued, voice thick with emotion, “I just thought I had more time.” 

Stan swallowed thickly past the growing lump in his throat. 

“I’m so sorry, Stanley.” Ford whispered, gripping the photo tighter as he hunched his shoulders, folding himself over top of the photograph. 

Stan moved automatically. He didn’t need to think when it came to comforting his twin. Concentrating on his arms, he wrapped them around his twin. They didn’t quite phase through Ford, but he didn’t fell as solid as it would have if Stan had a body. 

Ford’s head jerked up. “Are you hugging me?” Ford asked. 

The arms around Ford’s shoulder quickly dropped to Stan’s side.

“No no! It’s ok! It’s just— have you always been able to touch me?” Ford asked. Reluctantly, Stan wrapped his arms around his twin again, resting his chin on Ford’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Stan’s voice sounded from the radio across the room, “I couldn’t do it just a few minutes ago.”

Ford’s expression brightened, “You must be getting stronger. Maybe that last outburst bumped you up a few categories.” 

“Maybe.” 

Stan was only half listening. He was more preoccupied in enjoying the hug while it lasted. He’d been waiting ten years for this, and especially after the past week of being invisible, the moment was even more precious. 

Eventually though, a thought nagged at Stan. His arms dropped from his twin as he reluctantly pulled away.

“I know you’ve got a lot to deal with right now. I might not be able to help in the way you had planned, but I am here to help.” 

Ford sighed and carefully tucked the photo into his coat as he ran his other hand through his hair. 

“I’m not sure how you can help yet,” Ford explained, “I have to make a few phone calls, but after that, we can sit down and try to figure something out together.”

Stan smiled. “Ok, Poindexter. You take care of what you need to do, and we’ll talk after.” 

Ford nodded and picked his way through the various pieces of paper, notebooks, and various other debris strewn across the floor as he headed towards the phone on the kitchen wall. 

“Hey Ford!” Stan added, just before Ford left the room. His twin halted and turned towards the radio. 

“I’m sorry too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little delay in posting. It’s been busy on my end and I lost my motivation to write for a bit but now that I think I finally know how I want to end this fic, it should be back to some semi-consistent posting. Happy reading!

Stan had half a mind to eavesdrop Ford as he made whatever phone calls he needed to make. It was too conveniently timed for it to not involve Stan, and the curiosity in him made it tempting. 

But as he looked around at the mess he had caused, he knew he shouldn’t. 

If there was one bright side, to his outburst, it was that he’d grown stronger. He wasn’t sure how that had happened. Ford couldn’t probably explain when he came back. 

If he could touch Ford now, picking up some papers should be easy. 

He hadn’t realized he was already thinking about picking up a piece of paper he was absentmindedly staring at until the paper began to levitate. 

“No fucking way.” 

His eyes followed the paper as he levitated it to a desk, letting it come to a rest on the surface. 

Glancing back at the mess, he levitated papers off the floor. A grin tugged at his lips as he watched the air fill with papers, and notebooks. He neatly set them down on the desk by the wall before turning his attention to the splintered chair against the wall. 

He winced at the sight of it, recalling how close it had coming to hitting Ford. It had hit the wall with enough force that it had broken apart on impact. 

He didn’t want to think about what it would have done to Ford if it had hit him. 

Levitating the splintered pieces of wood, he deposited them in a neat pile near the door to be disposed of. 

When he looked back to the room, it looked neater than it had prior to his outburst. 

Footsteps approached the doorway but abruptly came to a halt. 

“What—?” Ford stammered, looking around the room with wide eyes. 

“Stanley— did you do this?” He asked. 

“Duh. No one else is here, Poindexter.” Stan replied. 

Ford shook his head lightly and sat down at the table by the radio. 

“You should know that you have impeccable timing.” Ford said, looking across at the blank seat in front of him. Taking the hint, Stan sat down across from him. 

“How’s that?” Stan asked. 

“If you hadn’t made your presence known to me today, if it had been any later, your car would have been scrapped.” Ford explained. 

Stan sat up a bit straighter. Ford looked bashful as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You—you called about my car?” Stan whispered. 

Ford nodded, “And uh, I called about you. Or should I say your, uh, your body.” 

A brief silence hung between them. 

“Oh.” Stan said. “And?”

Ford’s gaze dropped to his hands as he fiddled with his fingers. 

“Uh, they couldn’t find a valid ID so you were listed under John Doe.” Ford swallowed thickly, “The ground is still frozen solid so you’re still in the morgue. I have to go identify you.” 

Stan winced. “So I assume it was a car crash?” 

Ford nodded solemnly. Stan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He hoped his corpse wasn’t too busted up. Ford was already wired enough; he hated to think what seeing Stan’s broken body would do to him. 

“On the bright side, your car is getting towed here after they fix it up a bit. Apart from the front being busted real bad, it still runs.” Ford explained. 

“No shit.” Stan said. It was good to know that the car that had been his home for the past ten years was still working.

“Thanks for uh, for checking on that, Ford.” Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“It’s the least I could do.” Ford sighed. “I really am sorry, Stanley. I know we’ve had our...differences, to put it lightly, in the past but,” Ford’s hand reached into his coat, pulling out the picture tucked within. His eyes swam with unshed tears as he looked at the faded image, “I never wanted anything like this to happen to you.”

Stan swallowed thickly. 

“Hey, I’m still here, aren’t I?” Stan offered. 

Ford heaved a heavy sigh, “Yes, but even that has its potential problems. The longer a spirit stays on Earth, the more risk there is that your spirit will become warped. You’ll lose sense of who you are, or won’t be able cross over.” 

Ford sighed and tipped his head into his hand, “I can’t ask you to stay knowing what will happen to you. I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I had just known what would have happened.” 

Stan itches to reach out to his twin, “You don’t have to ask me to do nothin’. Whatever’s goin’ on, you can’t do this on your own. I’m stayin’ whether you ask me to or not.”

Ford looked up sharply, “Do you understand what that could do to you? You’d be stuck here, which may seem like an okay idea for right now but what happens when I eventually die? You’ll still be stuck here for longer than either of us can begin to comprehend.”

Ford anxiously tapped his hands against the table as he continued, “Thats the best case scenario. What’s even worse is you’ll become a warped version of yourself. Any negative emotions you have will fester and grow stronger until it consumes you. You’ll be stuck here and you won’t even be yourself. You’ll be miserable for all eternity.”

Stan sighed. He’d wanted answers from Ford, but this wasn’t what he had thought his brother would tell him. 

But he was Stan Pines, and that meant he was stubborn to a fault, especially when it came to protecting his brother. 

“And I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t care about any of that.” At least not right now anyways. He’ll deal with that once everything has been dealt with, “You really think you can deal with Bill on your own?”

There was a sharp inhale across from him as Ford suddenly shot to his feet with such force that the seat he had been sitting in toppled over. 

“How do you know about him?” He asked, eyes darting around the room. 

Stan stood up, offering his hands in a placating gesture even though he knew Ford couldn’t see him. 

“He spoke to me,” Stan explained, “He kinda possessed you when you fell asleep.” 

“He could see you?” Ford whispered. His spine stiffened as he whipped around, facing the radio, “You didn’t make a deal with him did you?” 

Stan scoffed, offended that Ford would think he was stupid enough to make a deal with something that possessed his brother. 

“Please, I’m not an idiot, Stanford.” He rolled his eyes, “Of course I didn’t make a deal with him. If I’ve learned one thing over the last decade, it’s how to spot a conman.” 

Ford’s shoulders somewhat relaxed but his eyebrows furrowed as he turned his back to the radio. 

“Good... Good...” his twin muttered under his breath. 

Ford sure wasn’t acting like this was good. “Heh, well, hard to believe someone can get me a body when he can’t even get himself a body of his own.” He laughed, desperately trying to bring his brother out of his own head. 

Ford’s turned back to the desk, slowly pulling the chair out as he sat down, “Hmmm, now that’s a thought.” 

“What is?” Stan asked. 

“Getting you a body.” Ford said. He pulled his journal from his coat and set it on the table with a resounding thud. 

“Wait— you mean you could do that?” Stan asked, leaning over the table to peak at the pages Ford flipped through. 

“Possibly.” Ford said, “If I could somehow find a way to harness and transfer your consciousness, I could maybe make you a new body, or better yet, put you back in your old one.” 

When Stan didn’t respond, Ford looked up with a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“Stan? Are you still there?” 

“Yeah!” Stan quickly sputtered out, “Yeah, I’m just,” he paused. He’d finally come to terms with being dead. He hadn’t even dared to imagine that Ford could fix all of this, “I hadn’t expected this. You really think you could bring me back?”

Ford carded a hand through his hair with a long, heavy sigh, “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some research, run some tests, as you can imagine. I can’t do it alone either.” 

Stan snorted, “You’re not alone, Sixer. You got me.”

“I mean—“ Ford paused, sighing almost sadly, “I need another set of hands. I need very specialized knowledge that even I don’t have. I had a research partner, a friend, before Bill. He came to help me build the machine downstairs, at my request, but something went wrong and he quit the project. I haven’t seen or talked to him since.” 

“Yeesh, you stopped talking to him too?” Stan said before he could stop himself. It had been somewhat surprising to hear Ford had made a friend. Neither of them had had many friends growing up, besides each other. 

Stan had been content to just have Ford. He had been all he’d ever needed and he thought Ford had felt the same. But all it took was for one stupid mistake to break them up. For Ford to toss him aside as it he was garbage. 

At least he knew he wasn’t the only person Ford had cut out of his life. 

He couldn’t blame this friend for quitting the project. Hell, if Ford wasn’t involved, Stan would bail as well. Just thinking about the sight of the machine looming above him in the dark of the basement sent shivers down his spine. 

“Stanley—“ Ford started with a sigh. 

“Yeah, yeah, just forget I said anything.” Stan said. He really didn’t want to open that can of worms right now, “We’ve got bigger things to worry about. If you haven’t talked to this friend since he quit, then what makes you think he’s going to want to help?”

He wasn’t sure he was liking the odds of getting a body back if this friend didn’t help. 

“I don’t know if he would.” Ford sighed, “He was adamant that I needed to tear down the portal, but at the time, I didn’t agree with him. I know now what a fool I’ve been and with any luck, he’ll agree to help if he knows I want to tear it down.”

“So that’s a portal.” Stan said. He was beginning to pick up a pattern with Ford; he’d answer one of his questions, but in doing so, create even more in the process. 

“Yes, it’s a punched hole through the weak spot in our dimension.” Ford explained, “Bill said it was the key to getting the answers to all of my research, but I see now that that was a lie.”

Stan was shocked by the amount of venom that spewed from Ford. 

“It’s vital that the machine is destroyed and all of the instructions on how to operate it is scattered so it can’t fall into the wrong hands. We’re talking about the fate of the world here.”

If Stan wasn’t already sitting, he would have needed to sit down. 

“Ok so,” he trailed off. He’d been determined to help Ford, but now that he knew what the situation was, he wasn’t sure how he could help in his present state. “How do we start?”

The troubled glaze in Ford’s eyes melted away to stony determination. 

“First things first, I need to dig up my other journals.” Ford explained. 

“Your journals?” Stan asked skeptically. 

“Yes. I’ve been documenting my research in them. They also contain the instructions for operating the portal.” Ford said, flipping through the pages until he came to a futuristic-looking page filled with codes and what looked to be a portion of a drawing of the portal. 

“Isn’t that counter productive to what you just said about scattering them?” Stan asked. 

“Yes, I know it is,” Ford said, frustration bleeding through his tone, “But I’m going to need all of my research if I’m going to get you a body.”

Stan sighed. “Ok, so what else?” 

Ford rubbed his chin in thought, “Well, I’ll need to identify your body at the morgue, as I mentioned. I’ll have to figure out a way to get it to my lab.”

It. That was a weird way to look at his body. It had been him at one point and to hear his brother talking about his body as if it wasn’t him reminded him that he was nothing but a floating specter of ghostly energy. 

“Once that’s taken care of, I need to talk to Fiddleford. Hopefully I can get him to agree to help and we can get you back in your body. Or a body. Fiddleford is a brilliant mechanic. Then we can worry about dismantling the portal and hiding my research again.” 

Stan sighed. As much as he wanted to be able to have a body again, to actually be seen by Ford and be able to touch him, his priority was Ford. 

In a way, it always has been. 

“I don’t know, Ford. Shouldn’t we worry about the portal first? That thing gives me the creeps.”

Ford’s mouth set into a thin line, “You can help with that. I don’t know if Fiddleford or I will have the strength now to be working around machinery like that and we’ll need your muscle. Besides, the longer we postpone working on getting you back to your body, the more complications there will be. Decay, rigor mortis, just to name a few. As it is, it’s already been a week.”

Stan shivered at the thought. 

“Ok, fine.” He said. The idea of letting the portal sit down in the basement still didn’t sit right with him, but the idea of letting his body rot away didn’t appeal to him either, “But first, before any of that happens, you need to start taking care of yourself. I don’t even have a sense of smell anymore but I can smell how much you reek.”

Ford sputtered, “I don’t stink!”

“When was the last time you showered?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Ford was silent, but in his silence, answered his question. 

“That’s what I thought. You also need to get some sleep, bro. We can’t have you passin’ out.”

Ford’s shoulders stiffened once more, “I can’t sleep.” 

“Why not?” 

“That’s when Bill takes control of my body. If he hears about our plan, he’s going to try to sabotage it. Or try to drive me back to finishing the portal.” Ford explained, his eyes darting around the room once again as if looking for someone to be watching him. 

Stan’s gaze swept the room but found nothing. 

“You can’t expect to function on coffee and sheer will. You’re going to need to sleep eventually.” Stan said sympathetically. He recalled the look of raw fear in Ford’s eyes when he had discovered he’d been possessed in his sleep just a few days ago. 

“I can’t, Stanley.” Ford snapped, “There’s too much at risk here. Too much at stake!”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“You can’t deny what your body needs. You’ll only make yourself sick, and then where will we be?” His tone softened as he continued, “Eat a good meal, take a shower, put on some clean clothes and get some sleep.”

Ford sighed and opened his mouth to argue but Stan cut him off. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I can tie you down so Bill can’t do anything while you sleep.” Stan offered. 

Ford blinked, “You can do that?” 

Stan shrugged, “Dunno. I guess I can levitate things now so it shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

Ford seemed to be considering this. He slowly nodded. 

“Good, ok.” Stan said, “You get to work doing those things I told ya to do, and I’ll start looking around for some rope. Deal?”

Ford flinched. His eyes widened with a sharp gasp, and Stan realized his mistake all too late. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, “That sound like a plan?” 

He could see the effort it took Ford to nod his head as he swallowed thickly. 

“Yeah, sure.” He mumbled. He quickly got to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Stan to sit and think about how one misplaced word had frightened his twin so deeply. 

At least he could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing from the kitchen. Getting something to eat would do his brother good. Sleep would help even more, assuming he could find some rope. 

He vaguely recalled seeing some rope a few days prior by a backpack. Floating to the adjacent room, he spotted the top of the pack from behind several boxes. Levitating the boxes aside, he floated closer to the pack where the rope was poking out of the top. 

Concentrating on his hand, he found that it was surprisingly easy to curl his fingers around the rope and pull it from the pack. 

Floating back to the previous room, he placed the rope on the table. The room was filled with low crackling static from the radio. 

Ford returned a few minutes later with a rather sad looking plate. 

“Is that what you call a good meal?” Stan asked, cocking an eyebrow at the meager serving of beans. 

Ford shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, “It’s all I have that isn’t moldy.” 

Stan sighed heavily, “Yeesh, even I eat better than this.” He grumbled, “When you go out, make sure to get yourself some more food.” 

Ford groaned, “Ugh, you sound like Ma.” 

Stan snorted, tilting his voice up as he mimicked their mother, “Stanford Pines! Eat all your peas. Do your laundry for God’s sake!”

Ford scowled across the table but the slight tilt of his mouth gave away his anger. He reached across the table and flipped the switch to the radio, turning it off. 

“Maybe now I can eat in peace.” Ford mumbled as he shoved another spoonful of beans into his mouth. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Stan said, despite knowing Ford couldn’t hear him. He reached across the table and turned the radio back on again. 

“Nice try, smart ass.” His voice bled through the crackling static. 

“Ugh,” Ford groaned, “Somehow your voice is even more annoying and gravel-ly now.”

“Good. Make sure you turn that radio up real loud. You’re gonna want to hear this voice at full volume.” Stan said, turning the volume dial until the static and his own voice was nearly over whelming. 

Ford’s hand lunged forward to turn the dial back down to a reasonable level. 

“Watch it or I’ll destroy the radio the next time.” Ford groaned, spooning the last bit of beans into his mouth. 

“No, don’t!” Stan reflexively bit out before he could stop himself. The idea of going back to being unable to communicate terrified him. He could at least manipulate his surroundings, but if he had to go even one more day being unable to talk to Ford, he’d go insane. 

Ford slowly looked up from his own empty plate of beans. His lips curved downwards. 

“Stanley,” he said, voice low and quiet in a way that made Stan feel foolish for his outburst, “I wouldn’t really destroy the radio. You know that right?”

A laugh sputtered from Stan despite the doubt festering in his chest, “Pshh, course I knew that.” 

Ford opened his mouth to respond but promptly shut his mouth. Standing to his feet, he picked his plate up, as well as the rope. 

“Good,” Ford said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Oh thank God.”

“And you can see if you can get the bed set up a while. I’m going to move the radio to my bedroom, okay?” Ford said, crouching down towards the plug. 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go nuts.”

The static abruptly came to a halt as Ford pulled the plug from the wall. Balancing the radio with the rope, he made a detour to the kitchen to drop his plate into the sink overflowing with old dishes before heading down the hall to his bedroom. 

Stan floated behind him, following him until they stood in the dim bedroom. 

Tossing the rope to the bed, Ford crossed to a table cluttered with even more papers. He hastily shoved the papers to clear a space for the radio and bent to plug it in. 

The static filled the air once again, sounding more like music to his ears than any song. 

“Alright, off to the shower with you. I can smell you even without need of a nose.” Stan groused through the static. 

Ford rolled his eyes but none the less headed off to the bathroom with only minor grumbling. 

The sound of the shower being turned on filtered through the walls. Glancing around his brothers bedroom, Stan sighed. The idea of having to tie his brother up didn’t thrill him, but he doubted Ford would agree to sleep any other way. 

Levitating the rope off of the bed, Stan set to work on securing one end of the ropes to the bed frame. 

“Do do do do tyin’ rope to a bed,” Stan mindlessly sang to himself, “So my brother can sleep without a demon wrecking the place do do do do.” 

Grasping the ropes in his hands, he gave a sharp tug to test the strength of his knots. Luckily, he had plenty of practice as far as tying ropes in his drifter days (it was strange to think those were behind him, not that he’d miss them). He just never anticipated he’d need that knowledge for this purpose. 

Hopefully needing the rope would be unnecessary. Ford was in desperate need of a good nights sleep, and Stan wasn’t too thrilled of the idea of seeing the smirk that was ever present when his twin was possessed. 

But if Bill really was watching them, it was unlikely that he wouldn’t pass up the chance to take control of Ford. 

Stan shuttered to think of what Bill would say now that he knew Stan was never going to make a deal with him now that he knew the truth of his history with Ford. 

Luckily, the sound of the water trickled to a stop. Ford returned a few minutes later, dressed in flannel pajamas. 

His wild hair was now neatly combed but still damp with water. The grime that had been accumulating on his skin had been scrubbed free, and if it weren’t for the dark bags circling Ford’s eyes, he’d look like a normal person again. 

“Stanley?” Ford asked as he sank onto the bed, looking around the room. 

“I’m here, Poindexter.” Stan replied through the radio. 

Maybe his eyes were playing a trick on him in the dim lighting, but he could swear he saw his brother sigh with relief. 

“I don’t know what you’re going to see or hear tonight, but you must remember that if it doesn’t sound like me, it’s probably Bill. Whatever he says, you must not shake his hand or make any deals with him. Do you understand?” 

Stan snorted, “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about that, Sixer. I’m not going to be making any deals with something that’s been terrorizing you.” 

Levitating closer to Ford, he reached his hands out and nudged Ford’s shoulder back towards the bed. 

“I’m more concerned that you get a good nights sleep. I can handle things on this side, and I’ll make sure that Bill doesn’t do anything while you’re asleep.” Stan assured him. 

Ford stifled a yawn as he settled himself onto the bed. Already, his eyes were beginning to droop, finally giving into the sleep he’d been denying himself of. 

“Don’t fall asleep just yet.” Stan said. 

Tying the ends of the rope around Ford’s wrists and ankles required more concentration on his hands than it had when he’d tied it to the bed, oddly enough. Once Ford’s limbs were secured to the bed, Stan carefully eyed his work. 

“Alright, give ‘em a good tug.” Stan said when he was satisfied that everything looked okay. Ford tugged his arms and legs with a grunt, straining against the ropes confining him to the bed. When they didn’t budge, his limbs went slack. 

Seeing his brother tied to his own bed just so he could get some sleep sent a pang if sadness through Stan. 

Levitating towards the head of the bed, Stan rest a hand against Ford’s shoulder, hoping it would bring his twin some sort of comfort.

“Don’t worry, Sixer. We’ll figure out how to get rid of him so you’ll never need to do this again.” Stan murmured quietly. 

Ford blinked slowly. Unable to fight off the need to sleep anymore, he let his eyes close. His mouth moved as he mumbled something too quiet and slurred for Stan to make out. 

Stan let his hand linger on Ford’s shoulder until his breaths were deep and even, signaling that his brother was asleep. 

Apart from the ever present crackling of static, the room was silent. 

Stan hoped it stayed that way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long! I've moved into a new house and started a new semester. I'm taking 20 credits so I might be slower from now on, but I have up until chapter 9 written, as well as the rest of this fic mostly planned out so hopefully it'll help! Happy reading!

The static from the radio was a welcome constant sound in the silence of Ford’s bedroom.

The air felt heavy as Stan waited. His gut coiled like a snake as he could do nothing but wait for Bill.

He knew the demon would come eventually. Ford rarely slept, and with Stan not only making his presence known to Ford, but actually communicate with him, Bill would be a fool to not show up.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Bill was waiting just to prolong Stan’s unease.

Time seemed to crawl by at an agonizing pace. On the bright side, Ford at least had that time to sleep without having his body possessed.

Stan still wasn’t sure how much good sleep could do for his twin if his body was possessed by a demon when it should be resting.

A shutter coursed through Stan at that thought. How much stress could his twins body take? How long could he go without getting rest until he couldn’t function?

With no way of knowing just how long Bill had been terrorizing his brother prior to Stan’s arrival, Stan couldn’t begin to wonder how much more his twin could withstand.

It hadn’t occurred to Stan just how important Ford’s friend’s cooperation was until now. If this friend of his didn’t agree to help, Ford would have to shoulder all of this on his own.

As much as Ford would hate it, they might have to call for more help. Shermie wasn’t too far away, and no matter how long it had been since Ford was last in contact with their brother, he knew Shermie would come if Ford needed his help.

Stan winced to think of what Shermie would think of this situation. It had been years since he’d been in contact with his oldest brother, but from what Ma told him over the phone, Shermie asked about him still.

Ford hadn’t explicitly said so, as Stan still didn’t know who all Ford had called when he had checked in on the status of his body and car, but Stan doubted that anyone besides Ford knew he was dead.

Stan didn’t want to be around when Ford told Shermie about the accident.

Stan had always envisioned coming home a millionaire. It had been slow going, but that kind of money rarely just appeared over night. He just needed for one of his plans to really take off and he’d be able to make up for his past mistakes and prove to his family that he wasn’t a screw up.

If he had known he would die before he got to do that, he would have made more of an effort to stay in contact with his family. He would have called Ma more, or visited Shermie. Maybe he would have even tried to properly apologize to Ford.

But hindsight was 20/20 and now he was dead. He couldn’t undo the mistakes of his life, and he’d always be the family screw up.

Yet somehow, he was still here. He may be dead, but he had one last chance to help Ford, to make up with him before... before...

Ok, so he didn’t know what would happen. Maybe after the portal and Bill was taken care of, he’ll pass on, cross over. Whatever the hell that meant.

Or maybe he’d be stuck in Ford’s house forever.

As much as he liked the idea of being with Ford and having some sort of chance to do what he hadn’t gotten the chance to do in life, he wasn’t happy with the idea of watching Ford grow old and eventually die while he remained the same.

Without Ford, Stan had no interest in staying.

Shaking his head, he stuffed those thoughts deep into his brain. He couldn’t worry about that now, not when there was more pressing matters that needed his attention more.

There was still the hope that Ford would be able to fix this whole ghost problem. If anyone could find a way to revive the dead, or transfer a ghost to a new body, it was his brother. Or Dr. Frankenstein.

A slight movement from the corner of his eyes ripped through his thoughts. His shoulders stiffened as he watched Ford’s wrists slowly strain against the ropes.

As Stan’s gaze slowly dragged from his twins wrists to his face, he was met by intense yellow eyes, and a sickening, twisted grin.

“Stanley Pines!” His brothers voice sounded unfamiliar as Bill spoke through him, “Did you miss me? Admit it, you missed me.”

Even though Stan had been anticipating Bill, he couldn’t help the heavy sigh that heaved from his chest.

“Can’t say I did.” Stan grumbled.

“Well, at least now you know how good old Fordsy here feels,” Bill said. He knew he shouldn’t give in and talk to Bill, but the curiosity burned too strongly for him to ignore it.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t really believe he missed you at all these past ten years, did you?” Bill asked. Instantly regretting that he had asked at all, Stan winced, “And now he’s stuck here with you? Heh, boy that’s rich.”

Stan averted his gaze from Bill. It was just lies, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to get a reaction from you. Even as he repeated his mantra several times in his head, it did little to lessen the sting of Bill’s words.

“You didn’t really think that Ford actually missed you, right? He just feels bad that you died. If he can actually figure out how to get you a body, which do I even need to go into how bad of an idea that is, he won’t feel so bad anymore. He’s just going to toss you back out the door after you do what he wants from you, and won’t waste another thought on you.”

Stan hated that he couldn’t deny the truth to Bill’s words, nor could he withhold a wince.

He had already thought about how death has a way to make people regretful or their past actions. But did Ford even regret not speaking to him for so long?

“I had no intention to let this— this silence between us last for the rest of our lives, you know.” Ford had said, “I just thought I had more time.”

If Ford found a way to get more time, would he care about keeping Stan around? Would he really send him back out to live a life separate from his own?

Ford hadn’t wanted their silence to last the rest of their lives, but when would Ford want Stan back in his life?

But what other alternative did he have? Stay as a ghost, forever trapped in Ford’s house? Stan wasn’t going to stick around when he wasn’t wanted.

“Nice try, but that ain’t gonna work.” Stan grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You really are an idiot, Stanley Pines,” Bill spat at him, “You’d really stay here and help the sibling that didn’t care when you were thrown out on the streets? Who threw you away over a dumb mistake? What has Ford ever done for you? He’s been living it up here while you’ve been struggling on the streets alone.”

Unease washed over Stan like a tidal wave. How did Bill know about any of that? If he really could look into Ford’s mind, then that explained how he knew about Stan being kicked out. But as far as Stan knew, Ford had no idea that Stan was homeless. Hell, he didn’t even want Ma to know that and he at least talked to her ever few months or so.

His confusion must have been evident on his face, as Bill continued before Stan could respond.

“Please, don’t think Ford is the only one I’ve kept tabs on,” Bill scoffed, “I’ve been watching the both of you for decades now. I know everything, Stanley Pines. From Columbia, to Vegas, to the many ‘jobs’ you’ve had over the years chasing after some dumb dream of making a million dollars.”

Something akin to anger, shame, and unease burned deep in Stan’s chest.

“I mean, come on! Were you really dumb enough to think Ford would forgive you just because you made a million dollars? Did you even think you’d ever make that much when you can barely afford to eat?” Bill retorted in Ford’s voice.

At his sides, Stan’s hands clenched into fists. He may have been chasing after some dumb dream all these years, but that dumb dream had been the only thing that had kept him going.

Stan wasn’t a man who gave up, but that didn’t mean the temptation wasn’t there.

He had hit rock bottom several times in the past decade, and the temptation to just give in, to not fight back or keep pushing forward, had been almost too strong to ignore.

The only thing had hadn’t let him give in had been the hope that one day he’d be able to come home. He wasn’t completely a fool; he knew the chances were slim, but as long as there was even a shred of a chance that he could redeem himself to his family, he wasn’t going to give up.

Even now, even though he was dead, there was still that chance. No matter what Bill said, he wasn’t going to give up on that chance.

Unless he heard it from Ford himself, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Nice try, but no dice.” Stan said, finally turning his gaze back to Bill. Light from the nearby window cast rays of pale moonlight against his face, illuminating his eyes in a way that made the yellow appear to glow.

Ever so slowly, the grin straining against the corners of his mouth began to falter.

“You really are an idiot, huh?” Bill spat. Coming from Ford’s voice, it sounded like one of Stan’s nightmares.

“You’re really going to help him when he’s just going to throw you outside like the trash you are? Forget you until it’s convenient for him? Until he can use you again?”

Bill laughed, “And here I thought you’d be smarter than that. I guess Ford was right when he called you the dumb twin.”

Stan winced. Ok, ouch.

He may be a masochist to listen for this long, but he had to draw the line somewhere. Nothing Bill said would change his mind, but he certainly knew what to say to hurt him.

Levitating towards the radio, he turned the dial as far as it could go until Bills voice was drowned out by the static.

“Go ahead and say all you want,” Stan said, turning to look back at Bill with a hard expression, “I’m done listening to you.”

It was a good thing Stan was dead, because it looks could kill, the furious glare from Bill would have killed him.

“You pathetic idiot!” Bill screeched, thrashing his limbs against the ropes. For a tense moment, Stan feared he would break free but the ropes held him back.

“Just try and ignore me, you single minded fool. I’ll make sure your brother regrets it!” Bill continued straining against the binds.

Stan cocked an eyebrow at the demon and crossed his arms over chest. He had half a mind to leave the room but knew he couldn’t leave his brother unsupervised. The ropes appeared strong, but Stan wasn’t going to take any chances.

His lack of response only proved to further piss Bill off. Luckily, his words were mostly drowned out by the static of the radio.

Stan lost track of time as Bill continued to fight against the ropes, raging and yelling all the while. The hours slowly ticked by. In that time, Bill calmed down, appearing to try to reason with Stan.

Levitating a book off the desk, Stan flopped the book open and began reading. Of course, Ford seemed to only own textbooks on advanced theoretical physics, none of which made a lick of sense to Stan, but at least he didn’t have to listen to Bill.

Seeing that Stan wasn’t going to listen to him, Bill threw himself into another fit. Apart from occasionally peeking over the book to make sure the ropes were holding, Stan ignored him.

As the first rays of the sun began to peak over the horizon, Bill finally fell silent. Seeing no movement, Stan places the book back on the desk and turned the radio down to a reasonable volume.

A low groan sounded as Stan hovered closer to the bed. Ford’s eyes blinked open, lazily blinking at the ‘empty’ room. Peering over the bed, Stan noticed with some satisfaction that Ford’s eyes lacked the yellow glow, and weren’t as bloodshot as they had been when he first went to sleep.

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.” Stan’s voice bled through the static.

“Stanley?” Ford said, glancing around the room, “Was he here?”

Stan crouched down by the bed and began untying the ropes. He winced to see the ring of red, blistered skin of Ford’s wrist.

“Yeah,” Stan sighed, “How do you feel?”

With one hand free, Ford raised his hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes with a groan.

“The same, more or less,” he said with a wince. His fingers ghosted over his throat, “My throat is killing me.”

Stan freed one of Ford’s feet and moved to the other side of the bed to untie the other foot.

“Sorry about that. Bill kinda screamed for most of the night.” Stan replied apologetically. He hadn’t even thought of the toll that would have on Ford’s throat. He should have stopped Bill somehow.

“Was he screaming at you?” Ford asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, he got kind of pissed at me when I started ignoring him.” Stan groused. With Ford’s feet free, he worked on the last of the knots on Ford’s wrist.

Ford’s eyes widened as he pushed himself to sit up from the bed.

“You ignored him?” Ford asked incredulously.

“Yeah?” Stan trailed off. He couldn’t understand what was so hard to understand by that statement.

Ford gave a loud, near hysteric laugh. “You know what, the sore throat is worth it to know you pissed Bill off that much.”

A smile creeped onto Stan’s lips. Ford’s hand gingerly rubber at his raw wrists, and Stan winced to see the rope burn that Bill had caused.

“Let’s get that looked at before you go about your day.” Stan said, levitating Ford’s glasses from the table and dropping them in his lap.

Ford pushed his glasses onto his nose, nodding in agreement to Stan. With a pop of his spine, Ford got to his feet and stretched. He wordlessly left the bedroom and entered the bathroom down the hall with Stan silently hovering behind him.

Stan pushed down the feeling of unease that crept up as the static from the radio faded away.

Ford opened the cabinet and pulled out a first aid kit. Most of the supplies that had been there once were used, and Stan tried not think much on the flecks of dried blood that stained the container.

Stan levitated a roll of bandages out of the container as Ford set to work cleaning the rope burn.

“We’ll have to figure out a way to pad the ropes for tonight.” Stan said. When Ford didn’t react, he mentally chided himself for forgetting that the radio was in the other room.

Ford shut off the water from the sink and held his wrists out as Stan hovered the bandages closer, allowing Stan to wrap his rope burns for him.

With both twins satisfied with the bandages, Stan returned the roll back to the first aid kit and followed after Ford as he returned to his bedroom.

“Stanley?” Ford asked as he rooted through his clothes in search of clean clothes. Glancing over his twins shoulder, Stan cringed at the short selection. Yeesh, When was the last time Ford did his laundry?

“Yeah?”

Gathering a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans from the bottom of the drawer, Ford turned around, “Mind turning around so I can change?”

Stan blinked at the request. He knew Ford wouldn’t be able to tell if he turned around or not, but the nervous expression on his brothers face had him following Ford’s request none the less.

“Sure thing, Poindexter. I won’t peek.”

Ford merely hummed his response. With his back turned to his twin, Stan could hear the soft ruffle of fabric as his twin changed out of his pajamas.

“Ok,” Ford said, with an air of finality to his tone. Stan turned back around in time to watch Ford shrugging his trench coat over his t-shirt.

“I’ve got a lot of things I need to do today. First things first, I have to go to the funeral home and identify your body. Hopefully Fiddleford is still in town and I can find someone who might know where he is.”

Kicking the pajamas into a large pile of soiled clothes in the corner, Ford straightened his back and ran a hand through his newly washed hair.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to come; I have no idea if seeing your body in it’s current state will have any affect on you or not.” Ford added.

“I probably couldn’t go if I wanted to,” Stan huffed with annoyance, “I couldn’t go much farther than a few feet from the house, so I might be stuck here while you’re out.”

Ford hummed thoughtfully, “Fascinating.”

Stan rolled his eyes. Fascinating, his ass. It was going to drive him crazy if he was stuck to the house.

“At any rate, that’s good for today.” Ford said, “You can hold down things here. Just— just don’t touch anything that looks important.”

Recoiling slightly at the comment, Stan blinked at his twin with a hurt expression. Did his twin still not trust him after all of these years? Did he think Stan would ruin another one of his projects?

Unaware of Stan’s struggle (perhaps blissfully so), Ford continued, “I need to call a taxi to come pick me up.”

This struck Stan as odd.

“A taxi? Don’t you have a car?” Stan asked.

A six fingered hand rubbed the back of Ford’s neck, “I did. Steve ate my car when I first moved here and I don’t go into town enough to see the use in buying another car.”

Steve ate— Stan shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the implications to that anyway. He’d already gathered that Gravity Falls was weird.

“Don’t forget to pick up groceries while you’re out.” Stan chided as Ford made his way to the radio.

“Yes, yes.” Ford sighed as if he didn’t need the reminder. If the state of his kitchen was any indication, he had needed that reminder a good few weeks ago.

Ford crouched down and unplugged the radio. Carrying the radio back out to the first room, he plugged it back in and set the radio on a table.

“Phone book.” Ford muttered to himself as he started rooting through his various stacks of books for the phone book. “Aha!”

Surprisingly, Gravity Falls taxis were fast. A yellow cab rolled down the driveway not even five minutes after Ford had hung up the phone and with his journal tucked safely into his coat, he bid Stan a quick farewell as he hurried out the door.

Left alone with nothing but the ever present crackle of the radio to keep him company, Stan heaved a sigh.

If he couldn’t follow after Ford, he could at least still be useful and prove his worth. Even if his worth was limited to being nothing more than a house keeper.

Going to Ford’s bedroom, he levitated the large pile of dirty clothes and floated it to the washer machine.

He started a load of laundry and set the rest of the clothes down to the floor to do later.

With the laundry started, he decided he’d tackle the dishes next. Floating to the kitchen, he opted to levitate the sponge and dirty dishes, rather than do them by hand.

Huh, turns out being a ghost did have some perks. Dishes were a hell of a lot easier when he didn’t even need to touch them.

It didn’t take long to clean and out all the dishes away, and he still had plenty of time to kill. If this was going to be a regular thing, he was going to have to find a better way to entertain himself.

Maybe he could convince Ford to buy a tv.


	7. Chapter 7

Ford hadn’t seen his brother in over ten years. He hadn’t been nervous when he thought his brother was going to show up to his door, but as he was being led back to where Stan’s body was being kept, he found that his nerves were winding up tighter with each step.

How would his brother look after all these years? Twins or not, they had stopped looking so identical around the time they hit puberty. Stan’s face grew more pudgy and was spotted with acne, meanwhile Ford was far scrawnier than his twin.

At least now Ford had somewhat grown into his shoulders.

He’d seen some of Stan’s commercials the first year or so after Stan left. He’d seen how his twins jaw had lost its childish appearance, looking more square, and he often sported some new style of facial hair.

Stan had mentioned a mullet. He knew to expect that much (well, that and probably a busted up face considering Stan was dead, but he was trying to avoid thinking of how his twin would look due to the accident).

He and the funeral home director finally came to a door, forcing Ford’s thoughts to come to a halt. Leading Ford to a row of metallic doors, the funeral director looked to him.

“Ready?” He asked.

Swallowing thickly, Ford nodded.

With a loud creek, the door opened and a large tray was pulled out with a sheet covering the body of his twin. Bare feet protruded from the sheet where Ford could see a tag attached to one of the toes, identifying his twin by merely John Doe and a few numbers.

Hands nervously picked at the edge of his sleeve as Ford stepped closer. Slowly, the sheet was pulled back and Ford’s breath caught in his throat.

Stanley’s complexion was pale, starkly so eve against the pale color of the sheet covering him from the torso down. If not for the unnatural stiffness to his limbs, it looked as though he was sleeping.

Several cuts and dark bruises marred his brother’s face, the most offensive of which was a large gash across his forehead which had been stitched together. Stan’s face a mosaic of reds and purples, only a few spots of pale skin showing through. Several bruises also dotted Stan’s chest and it was evident that Stan’s body had already been cleaned, thankfully. Ford’s stomach flipped of the idea of what his brother must have looked like when he was found.

Ford swallowed thickly, averting his gaze to collect himself.

When he looked back, he noticed that he and Stan really did look identical, albeit Stan’s mullet. They had the same square jaw, round nose and broad shoulders. It was almost like looking into a mirror.

Sharply turning his gaze away, Ford nodded.

“That’s him,” he whispered, “That’s my brother, Stanley.”

He could hear the soft shifting of fabric as the sheet was pulled back over Stan. Still, he didn’t look back to the funeral home director until he heard the click of the slab being pushed back into the wall.

“What happened?” Ford asked before he could stop himself. He could figure what happened, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the grizzly details the coroner could reveal to him.

“Well,” the other man was hesitant as he began, “We don’t know anything for sure; road crews found his car the morning after the storm. It had snowed since the crash and they couldn’t find any tire marks on the road, but most likely he lost control of the vehicle and crashed into a tree.”

Ford gulped. Cold dread coursed down his back. He hadn’t even considered it before, but what if Stanley has been alive after the crash, conscious in his last moments? He would have been cold, alone, afraid and in pain. It took more than a decade for Ford to finally reach out to him, and poor Stan died before he got the chance to see the brother he had dropped everything for. He had been just down the road when he took his last breath. Meanwhile Ford had been cooped up in his home, oblivious to his twins peril.

“Did he suffer?” Ford asked, voice just barely a whisper. He felt sick to his stomach, but he had to know.

The coroner shook his head, “No,” he said, “When he hit the tree, he hit it at such a high velocity that he hit his head against the steering wheel. It was fractured and killed him instantly. He didn’t suffer.”

“Thank Testla,” Ford muttered in relief under his breath.

Ford followed as the funeral director led him back out to another room away from Stan’s body, but Ford was only distantly aware of this.

He made plans with the funeral director, coming up with a lie so Ford could take care of the body, explaining that he was going to have him shipped to their home in New Jersey.

Ford had never been any good at lying; that was Stan and their mothers speciality, but the coroner didn’t suspect that Ford had much different plans than what he led the man to believe.

Again, he was only half aware these negotiations were happening, too locked in the confines of his thoughts to put his whole thought process into the interaction.

He’d hoped this wasn’t real. Whether it was an elaborate dream concocted by Bill, or the result of his own decaying sanity, any of that would have been preferable to the truth.

If only he would have known what would have happened when he sent that post card. He never would have asked his twin for help, but hindsight was 20/20.

He couldn’t change the past (for now, anyways) but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything to fix the present.

The funeral director let Ford use their phone to call a taxi to pick him up, and with a quick thank you, Ford let himself outside.

He couldn’t stand to be in the funeral home any longer. Not when he knew Stan’s body lay cold and broken on a metal slab somewhere.

His button down and trench coat was no match for the bitter winter air, yet he wasn’t willing to go back inside and face the thoughts he’d been trying so long to avoid.

Besides, he had to stay on track. There was a lot of things he had to get done today, and the fate of the world still hung in the balance.

As the cab pulled up to the curb a few minutes later, Ford hurried himself into the welcome warmth of the cab.

“Where to?” The cab driver asked.

“The electronics store in town.” Ford said, briefly glancing to the rear view mirror.

A pair of yellow slitted eyes were staring back at him from the mirror.

Despite the warmth of the car, an icy chill shot down his spine. Jerking his head back up to the mirror again, only to be met by a very normal pair of bored brown eyes.

‘He’s watching me’, Ford thought with dread. He had half a mind to get out and get another taxi, but Gravity Falls only had one taxi and the idea of walking back to the house in the cold didn’t appeal to him. Especially not when Bill could just find another puppet.

Swallowing with some difficulty, he resigned himself to hurrying up his tasks for the day so he could get back to the safety of his house as quickly as he could.

Luckily the rest of the drive was uneventful. The cab pulled over on the side of the street and after paying the driver, Ford left the warmth of the car to hurry into the electronics store.

A bell above the door chimed as he walked in. A man sat by the check out counter reading the paper. Apparently none of the other residents of Gravity Falls had wanted to leave the warmth of their homes to come to the small shop.

The clerk glanced over the newspaper as the bell chimed. Avoiding eye contact, Ford made a beeline towards where the radios were displayed. Hurriedly picking up an armful of boxes, he took them to the counter and set them down, acutely aware of the clerks eyes following him.

The man quirked an eyebrow as he saw all of the radios Ford was buying, making Ford’s face burn red.

“You’re a little late to be buying Christmas gifts.” The clerk’s voice was flat as he started to ring up the radios.

Huh, was it January already?

“They’re for a... uh...” Ford trailed off, struggling to come up with an excuse. It was too bad Stan was stuck to the house. He had always been good at coming up with excuses, “A party! They’re for a party.”

The clerk just raised an eyebrow at him again, but thankfully said nothing else on the matter. Instead, he read off the total in a monotonous tone.

Ford gulped. He should have expected it to be a lot, but not this much. Since Bill betrayed him, he’d been too busy trying to rectify his mistake to bother with the grant committee. Cash was rather strapped as of late, but the radios were technically for research...in a way.

He could only hope that when Stan’s car was towed to the house that his brother had left some cash in the car.

After coughing up the money, Ford impatiently waited as the man pulled his change from the register and bagged the numerous boxes. Once he was finally done, Ford snatched the bag from the counter and hurried outside.

The Dusk 2 Dawn was just a few blocks away. Tugging his collar closer to his neck, he hurriedly trudged his way down the street.

A few cars were parked along the side of the street, but no one was in sight. Apparently Ford was the only one dumb enough to go out in this weather.

As the Dusk 2 Dawn finally came into view, his stomach gave a loud grumble at the idea of food. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until he walked through the door and was met with the sight of stacks of food, even if it was mostly candy.

Threading his arm through the hole in the bag with the radios, Ford loaded his arms up with as much ramen noodles and Mac and cheese as he could carry.

As he started to approach the counter to check out, a bag of jelly beans caught his eye. Throwing two bags on top of his stash, he walked up to the counter and set the items down.

An elderly woman glanced at his pile and lifted her eyes to look at Ford. “Stocking up after the storm, stranger?” She asked before reading off the price after she rang everything up.

A woman glanced over at the two of them and stopped.

“Say, that’s no stranger!” She said. “That must be the mysterious science guy that lives in the woods.”

Fords shoulders rose to his ears as several more eyes turned towards him.

“Technically, all of Gravity Falls is in the forest, so I’m hardly the only one who ‘lives in the woods’.” Ford replied uneasily. He pulled the money from his coat quickly, wanting to leave the burning gazes of the townsfolk as soon as he could.

“I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack!” Another man piped up with a weirdly nasal voice.

“Old? It’s only six years old.” Ford sputtered.

“Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Another man added, seemingly not hearing what Ford had to say.

Ford looked back to the old woman as she slowly bagged his food, silently begging her to move faster so he could leave. An older man joined her at her side, his name tag displaying the name ‘Pa’. The woman’s read ‘Ma’; presumably they were husband and wife.

“Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up to in there.” Pa said.

“Oh, me too!” The first woman exclaimed, “Do you ever give tours?”

Ice gripped Fords chest at the idea of anyone else coming into his home, poking around at his research. “No!” He exclaimed, perhaps too quickly judging by the expression on the town folks faces.

Meanwhile, Ma had finally finished bagging his food. Frantically grabbing his bag, he started heading for the door, not bothering to wait to get his change.

He could feel the gazes of the confused townsfolk burning into his back as he hurried outside.

Once outside, it occurred to him that he needed to call the taxi again. There was a payphone by the side of the convenience store, but Ford wasn’t thrilled of the idea of staying around to use it. Not when he could be pestered and nagged about his research.

He rarely came into a town for a reason, after all.

There was another payphone in town. He’d just walk there and use that one.

Setting off down the street, Ford let out a breath as he put some distance between him and the convenient store.

The natural air was refreshing and after walking a few blocks, he was beginning to feel much more calm.

He couldn’t recall the last time he had left his house. Between being wrapped up in building the portal, and then all havoc breaking lose when Bill betrayed him, he hadn’t had time nor felt safe enough to leave his house.

Not that he felt any safer now. Anyone could be one of Bill’s pawns, monitoring his whereabouts and actions. He could practically feel eyes watching him as he walked through town.

As want as he was to stay barricaded inside the relative safety of his house, away from prying eyes, he couldn’t.

He owed it to Stan to go identify his body. He might not have seen his brother in over a decade, but Stan had jumped the moment he’d received Ford’s postcard. Ford would be a terrible brother if he left Stan to rot in some potters field whilst Stan’s ghost was stuck in limbo for eternity.

Not to mention he couldn’t avoid getting food forever. Without Fiddleford around to do the shopping for him, he’d been forced to rely on himself to get food, and seeing as he barely ate as it was, he hadn’t deemed food shopping important enough.

But he’d put it off for far too long and had near nothing to eat. One way or another, he’d be forced to go to town and buy more food.

All in all, despite how his issue at hand kept going from bad to even worse (something he hadn’t even considered could happen considering he had put the world at stake), the fresh air was helping to clear his mind some.

As his luck would have it, his feeling of calm didn’t last for long. A loud screech that sounded like tires skidding to a halt sounded around the next block.

“Get out of the road!” A voice yelled loud enough for Ford to hear. There was a yelp in response.

A man came running around the street corner, heading straight towards Ford.

The two collided with loud yelps from both of them. As Ford fell to the sidewalk, his bags fell around him.

“Oh gosh! I didn’t see ya there! Are you ok, stranger?” The other man asked.

Pushing himself up on his arms, Ford groaned as he fixed his glasses.

He inhaled sharply.

“Fiddleford?”

It had been several months since he had seen his friend, but he’d recognize his friends long nose and sandy brown hair anywhere. His suit was in complete disarray, and his hair was even worse, sticking out and receding far back on his forehead. Scruff stuck out from his chin and his blood shot eyes looked like the man hadn’t seen a decent night sleep for even longer than Ford had.

His friend blinked slowly at him, and the lack of recognition in his eyes chilled Ford.

“That’s me,” he said, though with a twinge of uncertainty, “Have we met before?”

Ford’s jaw dropped. How had his friend changed this much in just a few months?

“Fiddleford, it’s me!” Ford insisted, “Stanford Pines.”

Fiddleford still looked at him with the same vacant expression.

“We went to college together!”

Still nothing.

“You worked with me! Up at my house in the woods!”

Fiddleford sharply recoiled from Ford, as if he had just been slapped.

“No! I-I don’t want to remember!” Hands desperately gripped at what was left in his hair, pulling so hard that it was a miracle his hair didn’t fall out. He was shaking like a leaf, but not from the cold.

“Fiddleford, please!” Ford practically begged, “I know I should have listened to you, and I have no right to ask but I need your help!”

The mechanic desperately shook his head, “No, no!” He shouted, inching away from Ford as he leaned closer to him, trying to reach out to his friend, “When gravity falls and Earth becomes sky, fear the beast with just one eye.”

That phrase...

Fiddleford had said that after he had fallen through the portal, just before urging Ford to destroy the portal.

Guilt washed over Ford. Whatever Fiddleford had seen when he got stuck in the portal had shaken him up. The mechanic had had problems with anxiety for as long as Ford had known him, but had he really been that traumatized by what he saw that he became...this?

Ford tried to reach out for his friend again, but when Fiddleford shrank away from him, he pulled his hand back.

“Please, Fiddleford,” Ford tried again, holding his hands up to show he wouldn’t hurt him, “I can’t do this alone. My brother— he died and his ghost has attached itself to my house. I can’t dismantle the portal and revive him by myself.”

His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he could feel the frantic thumping against his rib cage.

Slowly, Fiddleford shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Fords stomach dropped. His blood froze.

“I can’t help you. I’m sorry about your brother, and I hope you can dismantle the portal but I won’t have no part in playing God and bringin’ the dead back to life and I won’t set foot in that house again.” Fiddleford spoke, a sudden clarity taking a hold of his words.

“But—!” Ford sputtered, desperately surging towards Fiddleford, tightly gripping his shoulders, “It’s not playing God! It’s science! Please, I don’t know if I can do his without you.”

Hands roughly shoved against his chest with a strength he didn’t think the thinner man could possess. Ford fell back on his ass, his hand landing on the bag of jelly beans he had yet to pick up.

“I said no!” Fiddleford retorted. “Now look, I’m sorry, but I want no part of this anymore. Please, leave me be.”

Pushing himself up on somewhat unsteady legs, Fiddleford stood, looking down at Ford. He was half tempted to reach out to his friend, to ask what had happened to him, to try to offer any help he could, but he couldn’t find the right words.

Ford only sat by and watched as Fiddleford finally turned his back to him and disappeared back down the steet he had come from.

The air hung empty and heavy where Fiddleford had once been. Ford remained where he was seated on the sidewalk, his groceries and radios strewn around him.

He was at a complete loss. The shock of what had become of his friend nearly eclipsed the helpless feeling of knowing that he couldn’t possibly do everything on his own.

Even if he could figure out a way to revive Stan on his own, he still had the portal and Bill to deal with. As much as he wanted to help Stan, the fate of the world hung in the balance.

He couldn’t bring about the end of the world for his brothers sake.

Then was the matter of Fiddleford.

Guilt flooded him at the thought of his friend. Ford had always assumed that after the portal incident, Fiddleford had moved back to Palo Alto to be with his family.

Had Fiddleford also forgotten about them? Did he still have a family to go back to?

Not to mention the state Fiddleford was in. The man obviously hasn’t been sleeping. His lack of memories was no doubt from the memory gun he had devised. Ford had warned him prior about the repercussions of using such a device but Fiddleford had ignored him.

For once, Ford wasn’t glad to be right.

The memory guns use had already caused its damage. Judging from what he had heard moments before running into Fiddleford, his friend had been in the middle of the road and nearly hit by a car.

Flashes of Stan’s broken face flashed before his eyes at the thought of Fiddleford being hit by a car.

Overwhelming helplessness washed over Ford, causing the scientist to lower his head into his hands, tightly gripping his hair.

Without Fiddleford’s help, how was he going to help Stan now? How could he even help Fiddleford now? How was he going to help them when the world— no, the universe— was at stake, something that he had caused by his own foolishness.

He couldn’t possibly hope to fix all of it. It was virtually impossible to do it all on his own. He couldn’t possibly risk the whole world for the sake of his brother and friend, but could he live with himself if he resigned them to their fates?

With a heavy sigh, he stuffed his newly acquired items back into their bags and resumed his walk to the pay phone feeling like the whole world rest upon his shoulders.

* * *

Ford was greeted by the sound of static when he returned home. Shutting the door tightly behind him, he let out a loud sigh.

He remembered why he hardly went into town. He could breathe a little easier in his own house, even if the eyes still lurked in the shadows.

“What’s the word, Sixer?” Stan’s voice crackled through the static.

Setting the bags down onto a nearby desk, he carded a hand through his hair.

“Well,” he said, methodically reviewing the events of the day in his head as he recounted them, “Everything should be arranged with your body and I picked up some food and other necessities.”

Ford busied himself with taking a radio from the bag. For the first time, he was grateful he couldn’t see Stanley.

“I saw Fiddleford.” Ford admitted, “He won’t help us. He wouldn’t even listen to me.”

His knuckles turned white as his grip on the radio tightened. For a few moments, there was no sound but the crackling of static.

“Ok,” When Stan spoke, his voice was oddly calm, “So he won’t help. We’ll just have to call someone else to help.”

Ford sputtered at him, “Call someone else? There is no one else, Stanley.”

“What about Shermie?” Stan asked, “Or hell, even Ma would help. You can’t do all of this on your own and they’re your family.”

Your family, not ours. Ford noticed his choice of language but decided not to comment on it

“I told you, I haven’t talked to Shermie in years. He might not even come.” Ford said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Ford.” Stan sighed, “We didn’t talk for ten years before now and I still came.”

Yes, he was right but look where that got Stan. He was dead.

Not to mention he and Stan had once been inseparable. Ten years of radio static had been a long time but Ford had known that Stan would come running as soon as he heard from him.

He couldn’t say the same for Shermie, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted him to. Yes, he wanted his help, but was he deserving of a family that would help him at a moment’s notice despite having not talked to them for years?

“Besides, you couldn’t have left on worse terms with Sherm then you did with me.” Stan added. Fords face burned with shame, “Just give him a call. The worst he could say is no.”

Ford sighed, admitting defeat. As much as he didn’t want to call Shermie, he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t do everything on his own, and he wasn’t going to let Stan suffer at his expense.

“Fine, I’ll give him a call.”

Shifting the radio to one hand, he picked up the bag from the convenient store before making his way to the kitchen. He set the bag down on the table before plugging the radio in on the counter.

Switching the station until static filled the quiet air, he took a deep breath. He couldn’t put off the call forever.

“Did you buy more radios?” Stan’s voice interrupted the static.

Ford nodded as he fished his address book from the drawer near the phone.

“Yes. It seemed more practical then moving the one radio around.” Ford replied.

The static buzzed for a few seconds longer until Stan finally spoke again, sounding slightly strained, “Thanks, Sixer.”

There wasn’t all that many people in his address book so finding Shermie’s number wasn’t that hard. Taking one last breath, he dialed the number and held the receiver to his ear.

After a few rings, a mans voice spoke into the phone. “Pines residence. Sherman speaking.”

Ford was only reminded more of how long it had been since he last spoke to his brother. He barely recognized Shermie’s voice.

“Shermie,” he managed to work the words out of his throat, “It’s me.”

There was a pause, “Stanley?”

Ford shut his eyes tightly, his grip on the phone tightening, “It’s Stanford.”

“Stanford,” his brother heaved a heavy sigh through the phone, “It’s about time you called me. Do you know how long it’s been?”

Ford’s face burned, “I know, it’s been a while.”

“Three years,” Shermie leveled to him, “Three years, Stanford.”

Had it really been that long? It hadn’t seemed that way; he had just been so busy.

“I’m sorry; I got a bit caught up in my research.” Ford rubbed the back of his neck guiltily, “Shermie, look, I’m sorry but this isn’t a social call. I need help.”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. Ford squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He could almost swear he felt a steady weight rest on his shoulder.

“Do you need money?” Shermie asked. Ford shook his head then realized that Shermie couldn’t see it.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He insisted, “I’m in trouble and I’m in way over my head. I can’t— I made some mistakes and I can’t fix them on my own.”

The words tumbled from his lips like a water fall.

“Woah, woah! Easy, Stanford. What kind of trouble are you in?” Shermie asked, his time taking a softer side to it.

Fords eyes darted around him as his shoulders hunched around his ears, “I can’t talk about it over the phone. He may be listening.” He replied in a hushed voice, “Please, come to Gravity Falls. I can explain everything once you get here.”

Besides the fact that Bill might be listening, it didn’t sound like a good idea to tell Shermie about Stan over the phone. Besides the fact that Shermie deserved to hear that their brother died in person, Ford doubted that he’d believe that Stan was a ghost without the evidence from the radio.

“I gotta see if I can get off of work but yeah, I’ll come.” Shermie finally said after a moments pause.

Ford sighed and nearly sagged where he stood, “Thank you, Shermie.”

“You still in that place in the woods?”

Why was everyone saying that today? Everyone was in the woods in Gravity Falls. Just because his house was further from town from most of the other houses didn’t mean he was the only one ‘in the woods’.

“Yes, I’m still there.”

“Ok. You hang tight, ok Ford. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Shermie said.

“Ok.” Ford sighed in relief, “Thank you, Shermie.”

“That’s what family is for. I’ll see you soon.”

Ford hung up and drug a hand down his face. That’s what family is for...

Family had been but a passing thought for the past decade, even less so when he moved to Gravity Falls. There had been moments, like when he’d been studying the mysterious moving island at the Gravity Falls lake and had reminded him of the sail boat he and Stan had worked on since they were kids.

He had meant what he said about not meaning for their radio silence to last forever. However, what he hadn’t told Stan was that he only intended to contact Stan when he had a use for him. He doubted they’d ever be as close as they had been as kids, and if he was honest, he wasn’t sure if he had wanted that back then.

But now that Stan was here, now that he was dead, he regret that he had let their silence go on for as long as it had. Stan might be around now, but it was better for his brother if he moved on, assuming he couldn’t find some way to bring him back. For the first time in years, he found himself longing for that closeness they had as teens.

For nearly their entire childhood, it had just been the two of them against the world. No matter if it was bullies or their father, Ford knew that Stan always had his back.

(At least until he didn’t.)

That’s what family is for, Shermie had said.

But what had he done for his family?

“—xer? Sixer?” Stan’s voice finally broke through his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Ford asked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“I asked is Shermie coming?”

“Oh, right.” Ford replied, hanging the phone back up before going back to the bag of food to start putting the items away. He’d have to get actual groceries for when Shermie got there. He doubted his brother would approve of just ramen noodles and Mac and cheese.

“Yes, Shermie said he’d come.”

Stan sighed. “See, what did I tell you?”

“Yes, you were right.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, did I just hear what I thought I heard?” Stan’s voice, even through the static was thick with sarcasm.

“You want me to repeat it?”

“Yes!”

“Well, tough shit.” Ford said, stuffing the packets of ramen into the cupboard, “Be right again and I’ll think about it.”

“You’re the worst.” Stan groaned, “Also, did you only buy ramen noodles?”

Ford’s face burned, “No,” he defended himself weakly, “I also got Mac and cheese and some jelly beans.”

Stan sighed. He muttered something too low for Ford to hear before piping up again, “Do you still look for the weird jelly beans?”

“Of course.” Ford replied, putting away the rest of the Mac and cheese.

“Glad to see some things don’t change.” Stan replied, a strange fondness in his voice.

It was odd, how quickly they had fallen into a comfortable banter. It reminded Ford of simpler days.

With all of the food finally put away, Ford closed the cupboard and threw out the bag.

“Well, I guess I should get to work on finding the third journal.” Ford replied with a groan. He wasn’t looking forward to going out in the snow once more.

“Where is it?” Stan asked.

“I stored it in a hatch I built in the woods.”

“Of course you did,” Stan sighed, “At least put on some more clothes before you go outside. You’ll catch a cold and then where will we be?”

Ford groaned at the thought of putting on old laundry. Still, it was more appealing than being cold so what other choice did he have?

“You’re right.” He groaned.

“Two in one day? I’m on a roll!”

Ford merely grunted to him and made his way back to the first room where the original radio was still crackling. He picked up the bag with the other radios and made his way back to the bedroom, stopping to plug in a radio before turning to where his pile of clothes were.

Or rather should be.

“Wha—“

“Oh yeah, I did some of your laundry while you were out.” Stan’s voice sounded from the radio, “The first load should be dry by now.”

Ford blinked in surprise.

“You can do laundry?”

“Well, duh. It’s not rocket science, you know.”

“No— that’s not what I mean. I mean, you can physically do the laundry now?” Ford asked, lips turning down in a frown.

“Oh! Well, yeah. It’s actually much easier now when I can just levitate everything.”

Ford ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t a good sign. Stan’s powers were increasing, meaning the bond keeping him to earth was growing stronger.

Without Fiddleford’s help, Ford wasn’t sure what his chances were to get Stan a new body. Getting his brother to want to cross over was already going to be hard enough, assuming they didn’t have any other options, but now that Stan’s powers were growing, it was going to be harder for Stan to pass on, even if he wanted to.

Ford opened his mouth to say as such but quickly shut his mouth. Stan was a Pines and if one thing could be said about the Pines family it was that they were stubborn as a mule. If Stan’s mind was already made up to help Ford, nothing Ford would say could change his mind.

Ford could just only hope that if Stan helped him, he would pass on on his own. Ghosts usually only manifested if the person died a violent death (which judging from the state of Stan’s body, he fell under that category), or if they had unresolved business (which also wouldn’t be a stretch considering their resent history, or lack thereof). Maybe helping Ford would satisfy Stan’s own unresolved business.

“Thank you for doing the laundry.” Ford sighed, going to the laundry room to pick out a few extra layers to put on. It hadn’t been long since he had hidden the journal so hopefully he still remembered which tree it was so he wasn’t searching in the cold longer than he needed to.

“Have you eaten since breakfast?” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio as Ford entered the first room in search of supplies for his trip.

He faltered at Stan’s question, his stomach giving a loud grumble at the mention of food

Huh, he hadn’t even noticed he was hungry.

“No, but I don’t have time.” Ford scoffed. He could worry about trivial things like food once he had his journal.

“Sure you do. I’ll make it while you pack.” Stan replied.

“No!” Ford flinched at the urgency in his voice, “The less you use your powers the better. I’ll make it myself.”

He didn’t know why he gave in so easily, but he also knew if he didn’t, Stan would make it regardless of his warning.

It shouldn’t take too long to make ramen noodles anyway.

Hopefully finding the journal wouldn’t take long either. Once he had it, he could start work on trying to find some sort of solution for Stan’s body.

Realistically, the portal should be his first priority, but it had already been a week since Stan died. If there was any chance to put him back in his body, it had to be done as soon as possible. Shermie was on his way and with that in mind, he didn’t want his older brother to see Stan’s resurrection if he could help it.

Not to mention, Shermie could help with the portal.

Exhaling a breath, Ford felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He had the help of both of his brothers, something he wouldn’t have imagined just a few days ago. He still had a chance to fix all of his mistakes.

It was a long shot, but it had to be done. Ford didn’t want to consider that the alternatives would become true.


	8. Chapter 8

Ford lost track of how long he’d been bent over his notes. He’d also lost track of how many cups of coffee he had already drank today.

Since he had dug up the rest of his journals, he’d been meticulously looking through their contents for any information that could be helpful to his next task (apart from taking a few breaks to handle Stan’s car being towed to the front yard, as well as handle Stan’s body, which was now safely in the second level of the basement). The third journal had plenty of information on ghosts, and while that had been helpful to categorizing Stan, it hadn’t offered much help as far as resurrecting a ghost.

Of course there had been other things, such as zombies, but that wasn’t useful either. Zombies were brainless and barely conscious; it wouldn’t do to turn Stan into a mindless creature like that.

He needed something that could resurrect him fully. It would have to counteract the rigor mortis and whatever decay his body had already started going through. He didn’t know exactly how long it took for Stan to be found after he had died. It could be assumed the crash was sometime that evening or night, and he was found sometime in the morning by the road crew. In that time, Stan’s body would have started to decompose. The only good thing was that the cold weather would help to slow that process. Not to mention, his organs hadn’t been working for a week and a half, give or take by this point. He’d also have to take that into account.

The last thing he wanted was for Stan to have to worry about organ failure in the future.

So he found himself pouring through his journals and various other text books he had found on the subject. Resurrection had been a subject of interest for many centuries.

Giovanni Aldini has done experiments to raise the dead two centuries prior. Aldini had conducted an experiment on the executed murderer George Forster, using an electric current to stimulate his muscles postmortem. Some of the people present for the experiment reported that Forster had been resurrected, and Aldini’s experiment had even been noted in ‘Frankenstein’.

Of course, Ford understood that Forster had never been brought back to life. His muscles had merely been stimulated by the electric current, but perhaps Ford could draw some inspiration from the experiment.

After all, an irregular heartbeat could be returned to normal using electrical cardioversion.

The portal had already required a large energy source, and while some of that included using radioactive substances, Ford could harness some of the portals energy supply for Stan.

He just had to finish devising a way to harness Stan’s spirit, as well as a device to reanimate his corpse.

Harnessing his spirit was perhaps the easiest part. He already had the blueprints for that drawn up. Building it wouldn’t be all that hard either.

The only road block left was the reanimation process.

“Come on, bro.” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio. Ford had a radio set up in every major room so that Stan could communicate with him without the need for Ford to be constantly moving the radio around to whichever room he was in.

It hadn’t taken Ford long to notice that Stan got anxious whenever Ford made a joke about destroying the radio. Ford had only made that mistake once. Hearing Stan’s desperate pleas had ensured that he never joked about that again, and it was why he had bought so many extra radios in the first place.

If buying the radios was just one small thing Ford could do to make things a bit more comfortable for his brother, then it was worth it.

“You’ve been at this for ages now. You haven’t taken a break since you moved my body to your lab; you need to take a break.” Stan’s voice crackled. Ford shivered. It was chilling to hear his brother talk so nonchalantly about his own corpse.

Ford sighed, propping his head up on his hand. His eyes burned from staring at the same page for too long but he had to figure this out! The longer he took, the less of a chance he had to get Stan back into his body.

It was already his fault he called his brother here in the first place. Stan had died just down the road from his house, and he hadn’t even realized it for a week.

If Stan hadn’t become a ghost and hadn’t made his presence known, he likely never would have known his brother died. Stan would have been buried in some potters field, and Ford would have just thought that Stan had ignored his postcard.

If Ford was the reason Stan died, then the least he could do is find a way to fix his mistake.

“I can’t stop now!” Ford sighed. His hands curled around the mug of now room temperature coffee and brought it to his lips. He pointedly ignored the way his hands trembled, but even without being able to see Stan, he knew what look his brother must be giving him.

“Time is of the essence! I can take a break when you’re back to normal.”

“Ford,” Stan sighed heavily. It was amazing that the radio could even pick up on his sighs, “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t ignore that your body needs to sleep. I know you have a lot to do, but you’ll be able to think better once you’ve gotten some sleep.”

Somehow the two brothers had fallen back into the same roles they’d had in high school. Ford could recall many times where Stan would drag him away from his studies to get some rest, or take a break, or eat some food.

Ford had always made a fuss, but he couldn’t deny that he did function better after he did whatever it was Stan wanted him to do. The only difference now was that there was a lot more at stake than getting good grades in high school.

He also couldn’t deny that the idea of sleeping wasn’t tempting. Only, it would be if he didn’t know that Bill would take advantage of his slumber and possess him.

Tying him down had prevented any injuries that Bill tried to inflict on him, but he was still exhausted afterwards. Not to mention his throat had been killing him thanks to Bill screaming and wearing down his throat.

“I’ll sleep soon,” Ford said, if not just to placate Stan. He couldn’t think when his brothers voice kept interrupting his thought process. At least the static was a constant noise and had a tendency to fade into the background whilst he worked.

“You know, Shermie’s going to be here any time now. It’s better you sleep now before he gets here, rather then wa—-“

Stan’s voice was cut off as the sound of a car engine grew louder as it approached the house.

“Well, talk about perfect timing.” Stan’s voice was flat as he spoke. Ford heaved a sigh. Setting down his mug, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Stan, please don’t say anything to Shermie until I’ve had time to explain everything to him. I don’t want him to be overwhelmed if he hears you before I’ve had a chance to explain.” Ford said as he approached the window, watching as Shermie’s car rolled to a stop beside where Stan’s car was parked.

He had to admit, as irritating as it was to have to take a break, he was relieved to see Shermie. Since Shermie had agreed to come, Ford had been anxious that Shermie would meet the same fate Stan had.

Seeing that Shermie had arrived safely was a huge weight off his shoulders.

“You got it, Sixer.” Stan’s voice replied.

Shermie’s car had barely come to a stop before Shermie was out of the car, anxiously looking at and in Stan’s car.

Ford was reminded of how long it had been since he’d seen his brother now that he finally saw him. He still looked nearly the same, at least from a distance, but seeing him only reminded him of the time that had passed since Ford last saw his older brother.

He had been so optimistic back then. With the future ahead of him, he had thought that he would achieve many great things and become a renowned paranormal scientist.

He hadn’t any clue what mistakes he would make in the pursuit of that.

Taking a breath to steal his rising nerves, he opened the door. The cold air immediately rushed against his face, forcing him to pull his coat collar up. Leaving the warmth of the house, he cautiously closed the distance between him and his older brother, his eyes desperately searching his brothers for any sign of Bill as he approached.

Hearing Ford, Shermie looked up with a shocked and urgent look in his eyes. His thankfully normal, oak-colored eyes.

“Stan’s here?”

Ford came to an abrupt halt.

“I didn’t realize you were talking with Stan again. Did you two make up?”

Shermie spoke about a mile a minute. This certainly wasn’t what Ford was prepared for.

As perceptive as ever, Shermie’s gaze briefly searched Ford’s as he calmed down. He sighed heavily and cast a look into Stan’s car that Ford didn’t quite understand.

“Ma was right,” Shermie’s voice was low as he spoke again, “I was hoping she wasn’t, but I can see now that she was right all along.”

Shermie’s hand briefly touched the Stanleymobile’s window before he lifted his gaze to Ford, a steely determination taking over his eyes.

“Where is he? I have a few words I’d like to say to him.”

Ford gulped heavily and took a few steps, closing the rest of the distance between them. His hands moved on their own accord, fidgeting with his extra finger.

“About that,” Ford began, “That’s part of the reason I called you here. I made a mistake and I can’t fix it on my own.”

“That’s what you said on the phone,” Shermie replied evenly, “It’s not making any more sense in person. Are you going to elaborate?”

Fords jaw clenched, “Yes, I’m getting to that.” He bit out, “It’s difficult for me to say so just— be patient.”

Ford paused and was satisfied when Shermie said nothing else. Instead, he just looked at him, waiting for him to go on.

“I contacted Stanley first,” Ford began, “Only, he never came. At least, I didn’t think so. I didn’t realize— I didn’t know that Stan got into a car wreck just down the road on the way here.”

Shermie’s eyes widened and his gaze looked back to the car, obviously looking for the damage. The damage that had thankfully been mostly repaired. A few dents still remained, as well as plenty of scratches, but Ford could only imagine that only so much could be done to repair the car.

“Stanley—“ Damn it! He hadn’t wanted to get choked up in front of Shermie, “Stanley died in the wreck.”

A broken noise came from Shermie’s mouth as one hand clamped over his mouth, the other holding his weight as he leaned heavily on the car.

Ford squeezed his eyes shut, “There wasn’t a valid ID in the car, so they couldn’t identify him. If I hadn’t been told about the accident, he would have been just another John Doe.”

The silence hung between them. Ford itched to say more, but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t just blurt out that Stan was a ghost... could he?

Luckily, Shermie looked up after taking a moment to collect himself.

“How’d you find out?” He asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

Ford took a deep breath, preparing himself for Shermie’s reaction.

“Stanley told me.”

Shermie’s eyes widened, looking at him as if he had grown a second head.

Ford raised both of his hands in front of his chest, “Look, I know what you’re thinking.” Ford began, “I’m not crazy. Stanley’s a ghost, and I have proof of it. You can talk to him yourself when we get inside.”

Shermie was silent for a few moments until finally, his lips parted and he slowly spoke, “You’re telling me that Stan is dead, but he’s a ghost?”

Ford nodded.

Shermie sighed.

“Ford— I think being in the woods for so many years has gone to your head. When was the last time you slept?”

Fords eye twitched. He hadn’t gone that long without sleep. At least, not enough that Shermie should have been able to notice that quickly.

“I’m serious! You can talk to him inside!” Ford insisted, “But that’s not why I called you here. I can’t do everything on my own. I’m trying to bring Stan back to life!”

He paused, half debating about telling Shermie about Bill now. His eyes darted quickly to the woods and he thought better of it.

“There’s also something else, but we can’t talk out here. It’s not safe.” Ford said, suddenly feeling anxious to get back into the safety of his house, “Come inside; you can talk to Stan and see that I’m telling the truth, and I can explain everything else.”

Shermie hesitated before nodding with a sigh.

“Ok fine.” He agreed. He turned back to his car and grabbed a bag from the back seat. He slung the strap over his shoulder before turning back to Ford.

The two brothers fell into step side by side as they crossed the yard.

“Shermie?” Ford asked as he recalled his brothers earlier statement.

“Hmm?”

“What did you mean earlier? When you said that Ma had been right?” Ford asked. Did Ma know that Stan was here? She had always claimed her psychic ability had been true, even if her sons always thought she was a fake.

Shermie’s sighed as he climbed the stairs to the porch, “Ma gave me updates on Stan. He always tried to tell her he was doing great, but she suspected he was homeless. Seeing the state of his car, and I don’t mean the outside of it, I suspect now that she was right all along.”

Ford froze in his steps.

Homeless? Stan?

But— Ford had sent the postcard to an address! He’d recalled seeing Stan’s commercials on TV. Stan couldn’t be homeless, could he?

Ford hadn’t realized he’d began moving again until he burst through the door, his eyes flickering around the room.

“Stan, when were you going to tell me that you’re homeless?”

The radios crackling morphed into Stan’s voice, “Who says I’m homeless?”

Ford was distantly aware of Shermie’s jaw dropping as the elder brother halted beside him. He was too shocked, creeping towards enraged at Stan (at himself for not noticing, for not doing anything) to notice.

“Don’t give me that. Were you living out of your car?”

“Stanford—“ Shermie whispered from beside Ford.

“Hey, Shermie. Long time no see— well, I guess you still can’t see, but hey, at least you’re looking good.” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio again.

Ford rounded on the radio, seeing as he couldn’t actually glare at his brother.

“You were weren’t you?” He demanded, even though Stan’s avoidance was answer enough, “Why didn’t you call me?”

Stan gave a short laugh, “Yeah right. Like you would have actually helped me. I seem to recall you shut me out when I asked for you to stick up for me when I got kicked out. If you didn’t help me then, why would I think you’d help me after not talking to me for a decade?”

Fords hands clenched into tight fists. His mouth opened to reply, but before he could, Shermie spoke up.

“Why didn’t you come to me then?” His brother’s voice starkly contrasted the twins angry retorts, “I tried to find you after Pops kicked you out, you know. Why didn’t you come to me, or at least contact me afterwards? This is the first I’ve heard from you in over ten years, and it’s to find out you’re dead?”

For a few moments there was nothing but the steady static. Then a soft sigh.

“You were just starting a family, Shermie,” Stan’s voice was quiet as he spoke again, “Cash was already tight; I wasn’t going to make it worse for you.”

“I didn’t care, Stan. You’re my baby brother; I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” Shermie replied sadly.

“I am safe!” Stan paused, “Uh, was safe.”

“Stan, you’re dead!” Shermie’s voice cracked as a tear burned down his cheek.

“My baby brother is dead. I didn’t care if money would have been tight. We would have worked something out. I just didn’t want my brother living on the streets.”

Ford somehow felt as though he was intruding in his own home. He couldn’t recall a time he had ever seen Shermie cry. Ford distantly thinks he may have cried when his son was born, but those tears were different.

Filbrick had always enforced that real men didn’t cry. He recalled a time in their childhood where Stan had been crying after he got punched by Crampelter for sticking up for Ford. His eye was swollen and red, yet Stan had been more worried about the fact that he had been crying.

He’d angrily scrubbed at the tear tracks on his cheeks and had asked Ford over and over if it looked like he’d been crying. He hadn’t shown even a hint of fear to Crampelter, but when it came to their father, Stan had been scared shitless.

Shermie had always been different then Filbrick. He could remember how happy his brother was when his son was born, boasting about how it was the best day of his life, a far cry from how Filbrick had always complained that having kids had ruined his life.

Shermie was also openly affectionate with those he loved. Whether it was pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek for seemingly no reason, or hugging Stan and Ford whenever he came to visit, Shermie never cared about how a man ‘should’ act.

In a lot of ways, he was a better man than Filbrick could ever hope to be.

And he was certainly a better man than Ford.

He’d had no idea Stan was homeless. Over the past ten years, he’d never asked Ma how Stan was, then though he knew she was in contact with him. He’d instead hung on to that argument over a decade old, telling himself that Stan was fine on his own.

“Come on, Sherm,” Stan said, sounding tired, “If I would have come to you I would have just proved Pops right that I couldn’t make it on my own. That I was only good for riding on this families coattails. I know I should have called you, but I wanted to wait until I had made a million dollars and could prove that I wasn’t— wasn’t just worthless and pullin’ the family down.”

‘And until you make us a million dollars, you’re not welcome in this household,’ Filbrick’s words echoed in Ford’s head.

“Stan, you were seventeen years old. A kid shouldn’t be expected to be able to succeed, let alone make a million dollars, when they’re kicked out with nothing but their car and a small bag.” Shermie sighed sadly.

Fords face burned with shame. He had thought that Stan would be fine. He’d shoved down the knowledge of the statistics of what happened to kids on the streets in favor of feeling self righteous in his anger. Anger had been a hell of a lot better than dealing with the betrayal and doubt he felt, but by doing so, he wasn’t any better than Filbrick.

“I didn’t care if you made me a million dollars. I didn’t care if caring for you would have cost me money. All I cared about was that you were safe with a roof over your head and a family to help you.” Shermie added softly.

He hated to admit, but he understood why Stan never reached out to him now. If he had been trying to come back following Filbrick’s stipulation of making a million dollars, asking for Ford’s help would have just gone to further prove he couldn’t make it on his own. If he couldn’t ask Shermie for help, there was no way Stan would have asked the brother he had wronged for help.

Stan had done a terrible thing by breaking his project. The subject was still raw to him, but he at least could recognize now that Stan hadn’t deserved to be kicked from his home for it.

“I’m sorry, Shermie.” Stan sighed sadly, “If I had known things would end this way, I would have reached out to you.”

Fords head jerked up.

“It’s not over yet.”

Shermie’s head turned towards him with a questioning look on his face. He could imagine Stan was doing the same.

“That’s what I called you here for, Shermie. I’m trying to bring Stan back. If the procedure is successful, Stan will be alive again.”

“But— how can I help with that?” Shermie asked, “I don’t have any knowledge of anything about resurrection or building or whatever.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that. I’ll be working on that; I have something else I need you to do, with Stan’s help.” Ford said.

“Stan’s help?” Shermie asked, clearly confused.

“Stan, can you show him what you can do?”

After a moment's pause, several papers and notebooks levitated off of the desk, swirling around Shermie before coming back to rest on the table.

“Stan’s powers have been growing.” Ford explained as Shermie turned towards him with wide eyes, “In my basement is a trans universal gateway. The being that gave me instructions on how to build and operate it was not as benevolent as he made himself out to be, so it’s of utmost importance that the machine is dismantled and the instructions scattered.

“Unfortunately, the instructions are written within my journals, which I need in order to resurrect Stan. Once Stan is reanimated, I can finish scattering the journals, and help with the portal if you two aren’t done yet.

“Shermie, please, the entire fate of the universe is at stake here. I’d do it myself, but we’re also running out of time with Stan, so you’re the only person that can do this. Will you help me?”

Shermie let out a long sigh, slowly carding a hand through his short, curly hair.

“Sixer, if he’s going to help, he deserves to know all the facts.” Stan added before Shermie could respond.

Fords eyebrows furrowed, “I told him everythi—“

“Did you tell him about this ‘being’ you got help from? Did you tell him about your deal with him?” Stan interrupted, sounding frustrated.

Ford heaved a sigh, “Fine, fine, you’re right.” A serious expression smoothed over his features as he turned to Shermie, “The being that helped me is called Bill. In short terms, he’s like a demon. In longer terms, he’s a being of pure energy. He cannot interact with us in this plane because he doesn’t have a body, but—“ he paused, swallowing thickly. Admitting his gravest mistake was never easy, “I made a deal with him to be able to use my body while I’m not using it. Bill can possess me while I’m asleep or unconscious and can do whatever he wants. You can tell it’s him because my eyes will be yellow and my pupils are more slitted. Whatever you do, you can never make a deal with Bill.”

Shermie sighed once again and pulled out a chair, heavily sitting down.

“So, Stan’s dead, but he’s a ghost. You’re trying to fix that, but a demon that can possess you is trying to wreak havoc with some sort of portal in your basement that you need Stan and I to take apart?”

Ford hesitated before nodding, “Yes. Essentially.”

“Ok.” Shermie replied.

Ford stared at him dumbly. His brother was going to agree to help that easily, despite everything he’d just heard, and despite the fact that Ford had barely spoken to him for nearly a decade.

“I’ll help you. You’re obviously in way over your head, but I’ll only agree to help on one condition.”

One condition. That sounded an awful lot like a deal, but Ford could easily see Shermie’s eyes. It was just Shermie.

“What is it?” Ford asked.

“You need to first get some sleep. Honestly, Stan, I thought you’d be used to getting him to sleep.”

Stan sputtered, “Hey! I’ve been trying! You try to get his guy to sleep when you’re just a ghost!”

Shermie rolled his eyes at him, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Fine. But Ford, get some sleep, and I’ll help, ok? We can sort out the details when you wake up. I still need to have a few words with Stan anyways.”

Ford opened his mouth to protest but stopped. There was no wiggle room. If he wanted Shermie’s help, all he’d have to do was sleep. As much as he wanted to keep working, sleeping was hardly a steep price to pay for help he desperately needed.

“Fine.” He sighed in defeat, “But, uh, about that. I’ll need either you or Stan to tie me to the bed before I sleep. Otherwise, I have no idea what Bill will do.”

Shermie pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath that Ford couldn’t make out.

“Ok, fine.” He grumbled. “Show me how and let’s get you tied up, I guess.”

Ford nodded and motioned for Shermie to follow him to his bedroom, “Right this way. The ropes are still tied to the bed, so you’ll only need to tie the other ends to me.”

* * *

“You call this a knot?” Stan complained as he watched Shermie attempting to tie Fords wrists to the bed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Not all of us have experience with tying our brother to a bed so a demon doesn’t possess him while he sleeps.” Shermie retorted sarcastically.

“Hey!” He exclaimed as Stan slapped his hand away, making room so he could just tie the ropes himself.

“I’ll just do it myself then.” Stan muttered as he quickly made work of tying Fords limbs to the bed.

Once he was done, he eyed his work critically, “Alright. Give it a tug, Poindexter.”

Ford strained against the ropes. Stan nodded approvingly as the ropes didn’t give. Remembering the rope burn Ford endured the last time, Stan had wrapped Fords wrists and ankles with a towel prior to tying the ropes over top.

“Hopefully the towels should help against the rope burns.” Stan replied. It still didn’t sit well with him to see Ford tied to the bed. Now that Shermie was here, he hopefully wouldn’t need to be tied down for much longer. Stan had no idea how they were going to get rid of Bill (he imagined he couldn’t be exorcised like a regular demon) but there were three Pines on the case now.

If anyone could do it, it was them.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” Shermie said, pulling the covers up around Ford, taking special care to tuck him in.

“You don’t need to tuck me in, Shermie.” Ford rolled his eyes, “I’m not a child.”

“One of my brothers is dead, and the other gets possessed by a demon. When both of you are back to your normal selves, I’ll stop tucking you in, but until then, it’s not like you can do much to stop me.” Shermie said, sticking his tongue out at him playfully.

Stan snorted. God, he had missed Shermie.

Ford grumbled something, but he was already half asleep, and Stan couldn’t make out what he said.

The two brothers were silent as Ford quickly fell asleep.

The silence lasted just a few minutes. Stan already knew Shermie wasn’t going to let their previous conversation drop, but he didn’t want to be the one to initiate it.

“Stanley,” Shermie finally began.

Stan barely withheld a sigh.

“Yes, Sherm.”

“Do you... remember much about how you died?” Shermie asked, his voice getting choked up again.

“Not really,” Stan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “I remember driving past the Gravity Falls welcome sign, but the next thing I knew, I was here.”

Shermie listened quietly but said nothing, compelling Stan to fill the solemn silence.

“I mean, it was snowing pretty hard when I came in. And I had been driving for nearly two days without really stopping to sleep. Guess I don’t need to be a genius to figure out what happened.”

Shermie lifted his head from where he was looking at his lap, “You never had to be a genius, Stan.”

Stan’s mouth gaped slightly at Shermie’s words. He knew Shermie was probably waiting for some sort of response, but he didn’t know what to say.

“I know it must have been hard for you being the twin of a genius, what with everyone grouping you two together and comparing you to one another, but,” Shermie paused, eyes thoughtful as he carefully continued, “You didn’t have to be a genius. Few of us are as smart as Ford is, and I know how Pops is. I know how he put pressure on you and how much differently he treated you and Ford. Ford is Ford and you are you, and that’s how he should have treated you. As individuals with your own unique strengths.”

Stan couldn’t help but smile, “You know, just because you’re a father doesn’t mean you have to try to parent me either.”

There was no bite to his words, only warm affection. Despite Shermie’s words, he didn’t want to tell his brother that his words were too late. It hadn’t just been Filbrick that had asserted that Stan was the extra twin.

His classmates and teachers had also asserted that Stan was just the dumber, sweatier version of Ford. His twin had been the only one who had actually treated him any different.

At least, he had until Stan had fucked it up.

“I’m not trying to parent you,” Shermie said honestly, “I know you’re an adult— were an adult, I don’t know— you still deserve to hear that.”

“Well, well, well,” Ford’s voice piped up, “Isn’t this a touching scene.”

“Oh great,” Stan groaned, recognizing the odd pitch to Ford’s voice, “This guy.”

Stan and Shermie glanced towards their brother. Fords head was bent at an odd angle to peer at them from the bed. The corners of his lips strained against the toothy grin plastered to his face. His eyes seemed to glow yellow in the dark of the room.

“So this is him, huh?” Shermie commented, eyeing the creature wearing his brother with a disapproving look.

“Yep.” Stan replied.

“Sherman Pines. Boy, I didn’t think I’d see you.” Bill leered at Shermie, “I’m almost honored. You guys had a little family reunion just for me? What, you didn’t want to invite Ma or good ol’ Pa?”

Stan flinched at the suggestion.

Shermie rolled his eyes, “Is that your idea of a taunt?”

The nasally laugh sounded foreign from Ford, “Please,” he scoffed, “If I was going to taunt you two, you’d know it.

“Ok, so if you’re not taunting us, then what are you here for?” Shermie asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I figure if you’re going to be here, then you should know the full story and Fordsy here hasn’t been very honest with either of you.” Bill explained.

Stan eyed Bill apprehensively. “What do you mean?”

“I’m talking in terms of my deal with Ford. I bet you two are under the impression that I tricked him into a deal, right?”

Stan glanced at Shermie as his brother hesitantly nodded.

“That’s the kicker of it! Sixer over here offered the deal to me out of the kindness of his heart,” Bill said, “‘Until the end of time’ was his exact words if I remember correctly.”

Shermie’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered Bill’s words.

“And why does this matter?”

Bill shrugged Ford’s shoulders, “Just figured if Ford wasn’t going to be honest with you that I will,” he said, “Afterall, it does have to make you wonder. What else is he hiding? What makes you so sure that he’s telling you the truth about any of this?”

Stan rolled his eyes. He glanced towards Shermie and noted with some satisfaction that his brother wasn’t buying it either.

“Yeah, I don’t really care.” Stan grumbled, “I don’t need Ford to tell us the full story to know you’re bad news.”

“I’m surprised you think so, Stanley. We’re quite alike you and I.” Bill said.

“Yeah, well I’ll be the first to admit I’m bad news too.” Stan rolled his eyes.

Bill laughed, “You and me are alike, Fez. Both you and I need a body. And I know, you’ve already turned down my offer to get you a body, but think of it. Ford used to trust the both of us before he cast us aside. Say you helped him to get rid of me, who’s not to say he’s not going to want to get rid of you too?”

“Hey,” Shermie interrupted sharply, “I’ve had enough of you. No one gets to speak to my brother that way.”

Shermie bent down and scooped up a sock from the floor. Stan watched as Shermie approached Bill and stuffed the sock into his mouth, narrowing avoiding as Bill tried to bite at his hand.

“Stan, can you find some tape or something for me?” Shermie asked.

For a moment, Stan merely blinked dumbly at him. Then he was floating to the first room, rooting through a box of Ford’s supplies. A roll of duct tape was stashed in a backpack stuffed in the box. Levitating the roll, Stan returned back to the bedroom.

Bill was trying to tell something through the sock, trying to spit the sock out so he could be heard. Stan could only imagine what he would say if Shermie let the sock get spit out. If his eyes glaring venomously were any indication, it wasn’t anything good.

Stan levitated the roll of tape to Shermie and watched as Shermie ripped off a piece of tape. In a quick succession, the sock was plucked from Ford’s mouth and quickly replaced with a piece of tape.

Stan briefly felt bad for Ford, who was going to wake up and realize that his brothers had duct taped his mouth shut in his sleep. Then again, the sting of the duct tape would be preferable to the sore throat Ford had experienced from Bill screaming for hours.

“There,” Shermie said, looking satisfied as he watched Bills shouts be muffled by the tape, “That’s better.”

Shermie moved back over to where he had been prior to Bill rearing his head, acting as if nothing was amiss.

“So where were we?” Shermie asked as he settled himself back into his earlier position.

Stan couldn’t keep back the short laugh of shock at Shermie’s nonchalant behavior.

“Aw, come on, Sherm,” Stan replied, a laugh still in his voice as it crackled through the nearby radio, “Let’s talk about something more interesting. Tell me about Jacob.”

Shermie hesitated, as if he were pondering whether or not he should keep pressing Stan on the earlier matter. Luckily, he seemed to think better of it and instead relented as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Jacob’s been starting to play baseball,” Shermie began, “He’s pretty good at it too. He hit a home run last season and you should have seen that smile on his face when he crossed home plate.”

There was a warm affection in Shermie’s eye as he spoke of his son, a look that Stan didn’t think their own father had been capable of.

He couldn’t help the twinge of regret at Shermie’s last statement. He should have seen it. He hadn’t seen his nephew since he got kicked out of the house. It had been over ten years since that day, and Jacob has been just an infant then.

“Someone in our families actually good at somethin’, huh?” Stan teased, an old joke from his childhood stemmed from neither of the Pines kids being particularly good at sports. That had been before Stan had taken a liking to boxing.

“He’s a lot like you, you know?” Shermie replied, looking up. Stan wished more than anything that they could see him. He didn’t think he’d miss eye contact with anyone, but when it came to his family, he missed it.

“Oh yeah?” Stan managed to get past the growing lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” Shermie chuckled affectionately, “He’s a sweet kid, but boy, he’s just as— as loud and rambunctious and quick to joke or pull a prank like you.”

Stan swallowed thickly, smiling despite the tears pricking his eyes. He wondered if Jacob even knew about him. So many years had passed since he’d seen the kid, years of absence that he regretted.

At the time, going back home before he had redeemed himself has seemed so unthinkable. He wanted to show his family he could make it on his own, could make up for what he had cost them.

Ford was trying to find a way to bring him back, but if Stan was honest, he didn’t think that would happen. Death wasn’t just something that could be reversed (but then again, if anyone could do it, it was his brother). He knew better than to get his hopes up.

Knowing what he knew now, knowing that he would never get the chance to prove himself to his family, he wished he would have just sucked it up and tried to at least stay in touch.

It would have bruised his pride, but at least he would have been able to be there to see his nephew grow up, or be able to look Shermie in the eye. It was funny how dying could make one appreciate the little things.

“Heh, sounds like you got your hands full with that one.” Stan replied.

Shermie hummed warmly, “Yeah,” he said, trailing off before looking up to add, “When this is over, you’ll have to come see him.”

Stan gulped loudly, not wanting to voice his doubts that he’ll be able to visit. He wanted to believe Ford, or have Shermie’s faith that this will all end well, but he couldn’t.

“I won’t take no for an answer.” Shermie added, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

Stan forced a chuckle, though it soon melted to a genuine laugh as he took in the stern look on Shermie’s face.

“Alright, Shermie, I’ll come visit.” Stan gave in, “Now come on, it’s starting to get late. I can watch Ford; you should get some sleep.”

Shermie sighed as he checked his watch.

“Guess I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t get some sleep, huh?” Shermie said as he begrudgingly got to his feet.

“Assuming you’ll get some sleep. I don’t know if Ford actually has a spare room or not; you might have to take the couch.”

Shermie shrugged, “No worries. I’ll get more sleep than him anyways.” Shermie said, jabbing a thumb towards Ford’s direction. Bill was still yelling something against the duct tape, though neither of the Pines brothers paid him any mind.

“Heh, yeah.” Stan admitted, frowning at Bill before turning his gaze back to Shermie, “You need me to tuck you in tonight?”

Shermie rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile, “Not necessary,” he replied, “Besides, one of us has to stay here to keep an eye on Bill.”

Stan grunted in response.

“Wake me up if something happens, alright?” Shermie said, voice turning serious. Stan rolled his eyes at that thought. Waking him up would be an interesting endeavor, but hopefully unnecessary.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, “Now quit stalling and go to bed.”

“Yes, Ma.” Shermie groaned sarcastically as he made his way towards the door. He paused by the doorway, angling his head back towards the radio, “Good night, Stanley.”

Stan smiled affectionately. “Good night, Sherm.”

His brothers footsteps faded as Shermie moved to the couch. With a sigh, Stan was once again left with the demon possessing his brother. Sparing a glance at Bill, he sighed at the burning anger in his gaze, in Ford’s gaze.

“This is goin’ to be a long night, isn’t it?” Stan muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless self promotion, but I did some cosplays based on this story |D If y'all are interested, my ig is cryptidcosplays. Also, huge shout out to darrowwyrlde on instagram. Thank you again for your kind words and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates have been slow. I’ve hit a bit of a road block in writing chapter 11? 12?? Additionally, I’ve started student teaching this semester so updates will probably be slow. Sorry guys!

To say Ford was confused the following morning proved to be an understatement. 

Bill had gone silent after a few hours, apparently understanding at last that he wasn’t going to be able to strike any kind of deal with Stan and Shermie. 

It was Ford’s groan that alerted Stan that his brother was finally awake. He had to admit, for a guy that was both tied to the bed, as well duct taped, Ford didn’t seem all that surprised or concerned. 

Mainly just confused. 

“Sorry bro,” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio as he floated towards the bed. It was good to finally have some sort of reprieve from the constant buzzing static. 

“Bill was getting kinda mouthy last night, so Shermie thought it was a good idea to shut him up.” After a moment’s pause, Stan added, “I agreed as well.”

Focusing on his fingers, he grasped the edges of the duct tape and pulled the tape off as gently as he could. He winced in sympathy for his twin as Ford cringed. 

“That’s quite alright,” Ford said, grogginess still thick in his voice. Stan could only imagine how frustrating it would be to sleep yet wake up just as tired, if not more so, as he had been before sleeping. 

Stan got to work untying one of Ford’s wrists. As the bounds came away, Stan was satisfied to see that the skin wasn’t any more raw then it had been. 

He untied his other wrist and got to work on his ankles as Ford nursed his wrists. 

“Where’s Shermie?” Ford asked as the last ties fell away. 

“I sent him to get some sleep.” Stan replied, “He’s probably still asleep.” 

“I guess we should wake him up then. We have a lot to do today.” Ford said as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. With a quick crack of his back, he got to his feet. 

At Ford’s request, Stan turned around so his twin could get changed before the pair headed to Ford’s study where they found Shermie asleep on the couch. After some begrudged grumbling, Shermie dragged himself to his feet and shoved the twins out of the room (mainly Ford) so he could change into clean clothes from his bag. 

The three reconvened in the kitchen. Ford got to work brewing a pot of coffee whilst Shermie rooted through the cabinets for breakfast food. 

“Stanford, you know you’re an adult right?” Shermie sighed, shutting the cabinet. 

“Yes,” Ford simply replied without looking up from the coffee maker, watching with exhausted eyes as the black liquid dropped into the pot. 

“And you know you’ve been out of college for six years or so, right?” 

Ford finally sighed and turned to face Shermie, “Yes. Where are you going with this?”

“Because you have nothing to eat besides ramen noodle!” 

Stan snickered, “I warned you, bro. You should have gotten actual food before Sherm showed up.”

Ford sputtered indignantly, “I did have actual food! I ate all the beans the night before Shermie got here!” 

“Beans isn’t real food, Ford. Besides, gross. Who even eats beans?”

“Plenty of people eat beans! Plus it never goes bad! Neither does ramen noodle!” 

“Maybe if you actually cooked, your food wouldn’t go bad.” Shermie muttered under his breath. 

“Fine, your know what? I don’t even need to cook; I’ll just make a nutrient pill so I don’t even have to eat! Is that better?” Ford retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Shermie opened his mouth to retort, but Stan’s voice cut in through the radio first. 

“Trust me, Shermie. He’s a lost cause. For now, just let him eat his damn beans and nutrient pills,” Stan said, muttering quietly under his breath, “We’ll get him cooking after all of this is all over.”

Shermie sighed, “Ok, fine. Fine! We’ll go food shopping another time. I guess we’re having ramen noodles and coffee for breakfast.”

Stan whistled, “Man, I’ve never been more happy to not need to eat than I am now.” 

Ford rolled his eyes and took the pot from the coffee machine, pouring himself a mug of coffee. 

“I’ve never been more envious of a ghost than I am now.” Shermie grumbled as he yanked two packets of ramen noodle from the cupboard. 

Twenty minutes later and the Pines brothers were sitting at the table with empty mugs and empty bowls. 

“Ok, Ford, I know you’ve been itching to get started. What are we doing today?” Shermie asked, sitting back in his chair. 

“You and Stan will be working on dismantling the portal while I work on figuring out how to transfer Stan back into his body.” Ford explained, busying himself with grabbing his dishes and carrying them to the sink. 

“Dismantling the portal?” Shermie asked, “You forget not all of us know what the hell you’re taking about and give more of an explanation.”

The dishes loudly clanked as Ford deposited them into the sink. He turned to face Shermie. 

“Yes, yes,” he said, “I’ll show you.” 

Spinning on his heels, Ford shoves his hands into his coat pocket as he hurried out of the kitchen. With a sigh from Shermie, the older Pines brother took his dishes to the sink as he followed after Ford. Stan floated close behind, apprehensive about feeling the pulsing energy from the portal once again (and ignoring how they’d be around it for extended periods of time). 

Ford was silent as he traversed the steps leading to the elevator. 

“Huh, I didn’t know this place even had a basement.” Shermie said. 

“You haven’t seen half of it yet.” Stan said, eyes widening as his words went unnoticed. 

It hadn’t occurred to him that there was no radios in this part of the house. Unease prickled at him, but he promptly tried to stuff it down. It wasn’t a big deal, he reminded himself. His brothers knew he was here, even if they couldn’t see or hear him. They wouldn’t forget about that. 

Stan watched as Ford punched in the code for the elevator. Shermie’s jaw dropped as the elevator door slid open. 

“Jesus, Ford, why do you need an elevator to your basement?” 

The brothers stepped into the elevator and the door slid shut behind them. Ford clicked the button for the bottom floor. 

“I needed more room for my studies. I can’t exactly fit the portal in my house.” Ford’s voice was grave as he spoke, not meeting Shermie’s eyes, watching the layers of dirt pass them as they traveled lower. 

The elevator opened up and Ford quickly led them past the row of blinking control panels. Shermie’s head was practically on a swivel, looking back and forth at the various machines, stammering half sentences which Ford either conveniently ignored or didn’t notice. 

Upon notice of this, Stan observed his twin. There was an unreadable look in Ford’s eyes, and his lips were pressed in a thin line. As he led Shermie through the door at the end of the room, revealing the large upside town triangle structure, he didn’t turn to look at his brother. 

The power crackling from the machine was easily detected by Stan. It deeply unsettled him to see his family so close to the structure, but at least he could draw some comfort that the machine would soon be down and they could all put this behind them soon. 

Ford must have been having a similar idea, as his expression pinched at the sight of the machine, a physical embodiment of the worst mistake of his life. 

The triangle’s shape was dimly outlined in the reflection of his glasses, shielding his eyes from sight in a way that sent shivers down Stan’s spine. 

With the firm frown on his face, he looked just like...

Shermie, who had fallen silent at the initial sight of the machine, finally spoke up. 

“Ford, what—“ he paused, eyes raking in every detail, every wire creeping up towards the ceiling, every bit of machinery that loomed above them. Though Stan doubted they could feel the energy radiating from the machine, it seemed to affect them nonetheless. 

How Ford had ever thought this thing was a good idea was beyond him. 

“What is this thing?” Shermie finally finished, his words sounding hollow and apprehensive. 

“It’s my life’s biggest accomplishment and mistake.” Ford sighed heavily. Folding his hands behind his back, he strode a few steps closer to the machine. His eyes took in the towering structure before he drug his head away towards a work bench towards the outside wall of the room (or was cave more fitting?). 

Crossing over to the work bench, he located a small radio amongst more piles of paper. Bending down, he plugged the radio into an outlet and turned the station to static. 

“Oh thank God.” The relief bubbled out of Stan as his voice bled through the static. For a moment, it helped him to forget the unease he felt being this close to the portal. 

Ford didn’t acknowledge him as he finally turned to face Shermie. 

“What you’re looking at is a portal through a weak spot in our dimension. I built it under the believe that it could give me the answers I’ve been searching for.” His expression turned bitter as he looked back to the machine. 

“I see now that this portal will only bring about destruction.” 

Shermie followed Ford’s gaze to the portal. Judging from his expression, Stan gathered that he wasn’t the only one confused. 

“So...” Shermie began, pausing for a moment before he continued, “What’s the deal here, Ford? Is this the thing Stan and I are supposed to take apart?

Ford flinched at Shermie’s words. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“Yes,” he said, “For now, I don’t want you getting too close to it. Stan can use his powers to start dismantling it. Once we know it can’t be activated, then you can help him.”

“So if I can’t help Stan right now, what am I supposed to do until then?” Shermie’s face suddenly suddenly brightened, “Hey! Why don’t I help you with Stan?”

Ford’s shoulders stiffened, “No!” 

Shermie and Stan were both shocked by Ford’s sudden and sharp response. 

“I mean—“ Ford back tracked, “I don’t require any assistance from you, unless you have knowledge on anastasis that I’m not aware of.” 

“Uh...no...” Shermie said, confused. 

“Then you can keep Stan company.” Ford said dismissively. 

“Relax, bro!” Stan jumped in, “I’ll have this thing down in no time; you’ll be able to help in no time at all!” 

A grin tugged at Shermie’s face, “Good. Guess we’ll finally have a chance to finish that conversation from earlier.” 

Stan gulped. Shit, he had hoped Shermie had forgotten by now. It would seem as though Stan wouldn’t be so lucky. 

“Right, well—“ Ford said, waving for Shermie to follow him as he led them to where there were still tools set out. He made quick work of describing what to do, and how to do it, explicitly warning Stan to use his powers and warning the both of them to not get too close until they knew the portal couldn’t be activated or wouldn’t collapse on them. 

“Relax, Ford. We got this.” Stan replied. The irony of Ford asking him to destroy his greatest project was not lost to him, but he refrained from mentioning such. For all he knew, Ford would sew on an extra arm, or transfer his consciousness into a gnome if he pissed him off. 

“Good,” Ford said, “I’ll be up on the second basement floor if you need me, but only if it’s absolutely necessary. We can’t risk any ill timed interruptions ruining this procedure.” 

Shermie mock saluted at Ford, and Stan did the same, despite knowing neither of his brothers could see him. 

With one last look towards the portal, Ford retreated back towards the elevator, leaving Shermie and Stan to stand beneath the shadow of the portal. 

The silence that followed after Fords departure hung heavily in the chilly basement air. 

Stan has to feel for Shermie. At least Stan could take some comfort in seeing his brother in the large room with him. Shermie didn’t have that same sense of companionship 

“You ready to tackle this thing?” Stan asked, hoping that his voice could give Shermie even a shred of the companionship he got from Sherm. 

Shermie inhaled deeply, “Ready as I’ll ever be. You just let me know when I can jump in.” 

“You got it bro.” 

If there were any benefits to being a ghost, it was that he barely had to lift a finger if he wanted to move anything. 

That being said, he still had to get close enough to figure out how to tear the thing apart. 

He was glad now that at least Shermie couldn’t see his apprehension at getting closer to the metallic beast as he levitated himself from the floor, peering around to get a good look at all the nuts, bolts and saudering that kept the thing together.

At least from the looks of things, it shouldn’t be that hard to take off the outer paneling. He could only imagine what the inner wiring looked like. 

Once he’d returned back to the ground, he levitated a tool from the cluster that Ford had instructed them on. He only needed to float to an angle where he could see what he was doing, and used his powers to do the rest without having to lift a finger. 

“Stanley.” Shermie’s voice echoed across the large room, loud enough that Stan could clearly hear the serious tone in his voice over the noise of undoing one of the bolts. 

Shit. He really didn’t want to have a serious talk with Shermie now. 

“Yeah, Sherm.” Stan sighed in defeat. Shermie was a Pines through and through; stubborn as a mule. He knew once Shermie had his mind on something, there was no changing it. 

“Once this is all over, will you come back to Piedmont with me?” 

Immediately, Stan’s shoulder tensed. 

He’d gone the past almost fifteen years of his life without any help from the family that had kicked him to the curb. In that time, he’d never once asked for help, even at his lowest. 

Whenever Stan has the chance to phone his Ma, she’s usually offer some sort of help. At first, it had been to offer him money. After a while, it seemed she finally caught on that he wouldn’t accept money from her, so instead she begged him to come visit her. 

But as much as Stan longed to have a family again, the way things used to be before his life went to shit, he couldn’t go back until he had proved that he wasn’t a fuck up. He wouldn’t go crawling back with his tail between his legs. 

No. The only way he’d go back is if he finally made millions and could walk into his home with his head held high and rub it in his Pa’s face that he was wrong about him. 

Now Shermie was here, and he was even worse than Ma. At least in her case, Stan didn’t have to turn her down to her face. He didn’t have to see what expression she wore as he denied her requests for the upteenth time. 

With Shermie here in the present, there was no hiding from that. He saw every emotion on his brothers face, and unlike the rest of their family, Shermie didn’t mind showing how he felt. 

Not only that, but he couldn’t just hang up on his brother with some half hearted excuse of being busy. 

Shermie also wouldn’t understand Stan’s need to prove himself. He hadn’t been there the night Stan was thrown out (maybe if he had, Stan wouldn’t have been on the streets). 

He’d probably say Stan didn’t need to prove himself to their Pa. To anyone, for that matter. 

It was a nice idea, but that didn’t work for Stan. For practically all of his life, he was told that he wouldn’t amount to anything. Hell, even his principle had said he’d be stuck in New Jersey, scraping barnacles from under the dock for the rest of his life. 

In a way, he’d proved him wrong about that, but he’d also ended up much worse. 

So no, Stan couldn’t go to Piedmont with Shermie once this was over and done with. He’d never accepted a hand out in his life (he’d stolen plenty though) and he wasn’t about to start now. 

When he finally came back to the family, it would be when he finally proved himself. 

He’d made it just fine by himself, and he didn’t need no ones help. 

(He was also dead now.) 

“I don’t mean you have to stay with us for long. I just figured you could see Jacob again and spend some time with family. It’d be good after all of this.” Shermie added. Apparently Stan had hesitated to speak for too long and knew his brother was coming up with some excuse to deny his offer. 

“I dunno, Sherm.”

“Stanley, please.” Shermie practically begged, “For the record, I’m going to offer Ford the same. I don’t think he should be alone after this, just as I don’t think you should be alone either. Come on, we’re family.”

Family, huh? 

What good has family done for him? Kicked him out to the curb, turned their back on him, forgotten him? 

A bitter, dark voice whispered that his family only cared now because he was dead. They probably blamed themselves somehow for his death. If only they’d done this, or maybe if they’d done that, Stan wouldn’t be dead. Guilt was a natural part of death. It was the only reason that Ford hadn’t booted him out the door once Stan served his purpose to him. But once he was back, he’d eventually over stay his welcome. 

They’d remember why they booted him to the curb in the first place and then Stan would be all alone again. 

He could save himself the extra heart ache if he left. 

Yet at the same time, Stan longed to see Jacob again. He longed to be apart of a family again. To know someone, just one person, gave a damn about him and wouldn’t turn their back on him. 

He really was an idiot to get his hopes up. Maybe dying had made him sentimental. 

“I’ll think about it, Sherm.” Stan said. Shermie opened his mouth to protest, but Stan beat him to it, “That’s the best I can give you for now, ok? I’ll consider it, I promise.” 

Shermie was silent for a moment before sighing. 

“Ok, Stan. I hope you’ll come.” He said, sounding about as dejected as he looked. 

Shermie knew as well as Stan did that he wouldn’t come, but Stan suspected Shermie wasn’t going to give up just yet. 

“Hey,” Stan said, “Come on now. This basement is dreary enough. You’re a dad; tell me some good dad jokes or somethin’, huh?” 

A smile slowly slid across Shermie’s features. “Alright. But be careful what you wish for.” 

——-

The faint sounds of Shermie and Stan’s laughter drifted to the study the floor above them. Ford barely heard it as he poured over some last calculations. 

He’d finally figured it out. 

After pouring over many sources, ranging from textbook on human anatomy to accounts of previous attempts to raise the dead to his notes on black magic, he finally figured out how to bring Stan back. 

Satisfied that his math was correct, he turned his attention to preparing everything. He needed to build the machine, as well as assemble all of the materials and incantations he needed for the spell, but he should have the work completed by the evening, considering he could modify some of the inventions he had lying around.

Starting with Project Mentum, he began work to modify it to instead of reading thoughts to sensing and harnessing Stan’s spirit. Using paint, he drew out a symbol on the floor where Stan would stand. Next, he modified the helmet to direct Stan’s ghost back into his body. 

The hardest part wasn’t in the actual modifications in itself, oddly enough. 

The hardest part would be seeing Stan’s body again. 

Since he’d gotten the body into the study, he’d made a point to avoid looking at it (no, it wasn’t an it. It was Stan!). After ensuring that his body wouldn’t decompose any further, he covered his twins body with a sheet, shielding himself from having to look at Stan’s injuries or pale face, devoid of the life that had flowed from his brother in their youth. 

Even in his sleep, Stan hadn’t been so quiet or expressionless. Ford had spent the first seventeen years of his life sleeping above Stan. For that same time, he’d listened to his brothers loud, obnoxious snores, or climbed down from his bunk to find his brother in all sorts of positions, mouth hanging wide open and drool soaking into the pillow. 

To see his brother so still now was unsettling. 

Dragging a desk beside the table Stan laid upon, Ford carefully set the newly modified Project Mentum down. 

Preparing himself for his next task, he took a deep breath and forced himself to pull back the sheet from Stan’s head. 

He couldn’t help but wince at the sight of Stan’s face. The accident had really done a number to his head, and even though he’d seen the injuries before, he hadn’t gotten anymore used to the sight of it. 

A lump firmly lodged itself in his throat. 

They were 33 years old now, and had been seventeen by the time Stan left home. 

They’d spent almost half of their life apart from each other. 

In their years apart, Ford had hardly thought of Stan, or had pushed away any thoughts of his brother as they entered his head. 

It was hard to just forget someone after growing up with them for seventeen years. Neither of them had many friends growing up; they’d only had each other. Even with all the anger Ford had felt towards Stan, he couldn’t deny how he couldn’t sleep in the stifling silence of their (his) room after Stan left, or how little things used to remind him of his brother despite his best attempts to shut his twin out of his thoughts. 

Stan was fine, he had told himself shortly after Stan left home. Their mother had always said Stan had ‘personality’. He knew the statistics of what happened to teenagers on the street, but Stan was different. He could take care of himself, and he’d be fine. 

It was Ford who had lost out, he told himself. He lost out on going to his dream school and instead had to work twice as hard at a third rate school. 

But at least Ford had always had a roof over his head. At least he wasn’t laying on a cold slab right now. 

For sixteen years, Ford had firmly believed that Stan had sabotaged him, that Stan had been dragging him down and that he was better off without his brother. 

Looking at the bloody, colorless face of his twin, he was having doubts. 

He was no stranger to the feeling of doubt. He’d felt it the remainder of his senior year after Stan left (at least until Stan’s commercials started to air). 

But anger was easier to deal with than sadness and doubt. He’d stubbornly clutched the anger from Stan’s betrayal, unwilling to consider that maybe he was wrong. That maybe it had been an accident all along and that Ford had turned his back on his brother. 

It was just easier that way. 

But it hadn’t been easier for Stan. 

Having Stan around again, even if all he heard was Stan’s voice through the crackle of the radio static, had reminded him of the brother he hadn’t wanted to accept that he missed. 

He’d missed hearing Stan tell him stupid jokes, or hear his loud, hearty laugh, or hear his brother sing some song about whatever it was he was doing. 

For the first time in six years, his house was beginning to feel like a home. 

The worst part of it was, it was Fords fault that Stan was dead. If Ford hadn’t sent the post card, if he hadn’t been so blind to Bill’s true nature, Stan wouldn’t have driven his car in a snow storm and crashed. 

It was why Ford had to bring Stan back. Stan had dropped everything to come when Ford asked him too, even after not hearing from Ford for sixteen years. Even after Ford had turned his back on him. 

Despite being a ghost, Stan was still helping him. He was dismantling the portal while Ford worked to bring him back, and really, it was the least Ford could do for him. 

Ford would fix his mistake one way or another. 

Taking another breath to steel his nerves, Ford fixed the helmet to Stan’s head, securing it into place. (When Stan was alive, Ford was going to have to seriously talk him into getting a hair cut. What was he even thinking with that mullet?) 

Sitting back, Ford scrutinized his work. It looked sturdy, but it also tilted Stan’s head forward at an odd angle. If Stan’s face was angled towards him, it almost looked like Stan was beginning to sit up. 

Chills went down his spine. 

Covering Stan’s face with the sheet once more, Ford felt a bit at ease, even if only minutely. He wished there was a better place than the basement for this; ever since Bill had betrayed him, the basement became another reminder of the mistakes he made, rather than be his safe heaven. 

Up until now, he hadn’t noticed how he hadn’t heard the whispers for a while (since Stan’s ‘arrival’, to be exact), but in the cold lab with the deceased body of his twin lying before him, the whispers picked up once more. 

“Who said that?” He instinctively asked as his head whipped to the side. His question received no response, as he should have expected. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Stanford,” he muttered to himself, tangling a hand in his hair, “You can’t afford to mess up now. Focus on your intellect.” 

He was shocked everything was going so smoothly. With Shermie and Stan working to dismantle the portal, and now that he’d finally made decent headway on Stan’s resurrection, he had expected that Bill would be doing anything in his power to mess up their plans. 

Then again, that was the problem wasn’t it. Bill’s powers were limited. Without a physical body, he relied on Ford to sleep or be rendered unconscious for him to have a vessel. 

Without it, what else could Bill do other than taunt and torture him? 

Cold fear gripped his ribs as Ford remembered it wasn’t just him that Bill could target anymore. Shermie was here, and technically Stan was as well. Ford wasn’t so sure what Bill could do to Stan given that Stan was just a spirit (for now), but that was one question he didn’t want the answer to. 

He wouldn’t let Bill touch his family. Especially not when his family had dropped everything to come help him, even after years of little to no contact with them. 

(He was really going to need to be a better brother after this was all over.) 

(Starting with Stan.)

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he focused on his task. Transferring Stan’s spirit to his body wasn’t the hard part. The hard part would be reviving Stan in such a way that his fatal injuries and decomposition wouldn’t affect him. Not to mention he didn’t want his twin having to deal with any side affects afterwards. 

Everything had to be just right. 

Yet at the same time, he didn’t have enough time. A week had already been lost from the time Stan died to the time Ford found out. It had also been several days since Ford found out, making it a week and a half since Stan’s death. 

He’d done his best to preserve Stan’s body, but the damage had already been done. 

Luckily, he had something a little better than modern medicine. 

He had magic. 

Magic and science. 

Combining the two would give Ford everything he needed in order to successfully bring his brother back. While he hadn’t been able to do as much research and verification of his math as he would have liked before such an important project, he had to be quick. 

Setting himself to work with setting up the spell to heal Stan’s injuries, Ford’s mouth set into a firm line. 

If he hurried, Stan could be back by tonight. He’d finally get a chance to finally see and speak to his brother for the first time in sixteen years.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ford tries to resurrect Stan.

“Yeesh, Ford, I knew you were a genius, but this is some next level shit.” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio as Ford led him out of the elevator and into his study, now lab. 

He had made sure to set up a radio before he went to the bottom level to get Stan and send Shermie up to the first floor. He hadn’t been upstairs since breakfast, but judging by the amount of time that had passed, the sun had probably set by now. 

It had taken all day, but Ford was finally ready to bring Stan into the lab. If all went well, Stan would soon be able to look his brothers in the eye and have his life back. 

“You really think this is going to work?” Stan asked, an edge of apprehension in his voice. Ford bit his lip, hoping that Stan wasn’t in front of him right now to see his expression. 

No, he really wasn’t sure. If time wasn’t of the essence, he would have done more research, maybe run some tests if he could find a suitable candidate. He wasn’t comfortable with the idea of his brother being the test rat, but what other choice did he have? 

“Of course it’ll work.” Ford replied, hoping to whatever forces there might be that he was right, “I hope you’re ready for Shermie’s waterworks; you know he’s going to cry.”

Stan’s laugh, sounding somewhat forced before flowing more naturally through the radio was like music to his ears. 

(After this was all over, Ford was never listening to the radio again. He was so tired of hearing static from every room in his house.) 

“Alright, are you ready Stan?” Ford asked, checking the machines one last time. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Stan said. 

“Good enough,” Ford replied. “I’m going to need you to stand right here,” he explained, pointing to a symbol he had painted on the floor. “The symbol will make sure to direct your spirit back into your body. I have some more spells placed to help repair your body so your injuries and decay to your body won’t be a problem. The machine on the side here will send a powerful electric shock to your body, much in the same way a defibrillator steadies irregular heart beats.” 

“Ohhhh...kayyyy.” Stan said uncertainly. 

Ford positioned himself beside a large switch to the side of the machine, “Are you in position?” 

“Sure am!” 

“Alright. Let’s do it.” Ford said. 

“See you on the other side, brother.” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio, hopefully for the last time. 

Taking a breath, Ford pulled the switch. The buzzing sound of electricity drowned out the sound of the radio static as the machine erupted to life. 

The hair on the back of Ford’s neck rose as electricity crackled in the air. It was a good thing the basement’s electricity was reinforced to handle the portal or else the lights would be flickering. 

Ford watched as the symbol on the ground began to glow. Just a few more moments and he could turn the machine off and —-

Suddenly Stan’s body jerked from the table, the sheet slipping from his head. For a sweet moment, Ford thought that it had worked, that Stan was alive, complication free. 

That moment was fleeting as a terrible scream filled the air as Stan’s face stiffly contorted in pain. 

The scream was like a sound Ford had never heard before. Ford had heard plenty of monster roars in his day but none had shaken them to his core in the way Stanley’s scream was. He’d never heard a being make a noise like that, a noise that sounded like pure agony. It shouldn’t be possible for a human voice to sound so pained. 

“Oh God! Stanley!” Ford gasped, fear clenching his chest. He scrambled for the lever. Stan’s screaming hardly stilled, and Fords hands were shaking too much to immediately grasp the lever. 

His stupid, useless six fingers. They were the reason he’d been ridiculed throughout his childhood, and they were failing him yet again, prolonging Stan’s pain when Stanley was already dead because of Ford. 

When he finally managed to curl his shaking hand around the lever, he yanked it up, effectively halting the machine. 

He wasted no time as he ran to his brother, who had now gone still on the table. Thankfully the screaming had stopped, though he was sure he’d hear that terrible sound rattling around in his head for quite a while. 

The only sound he heard was the radio static. 

“Oh God, Stanley!” He whispered, tears pricking his eyes. Pressing two fingers to Stan’s throat, he stilled as he felt for a pulse. 

There was no blood pumping through Stanley’s veins. 

Straightening his spine, Ford spun around, begging just once that he could see Stan’s spirit. 

“Stanley?” He asked, his voice sounding small and frightened even to his own ears. Please, dear God, please. He couldn’t lose his brother again, “Stanley, please, are you there?”

Static hung heavily in the air and time seemed to drag. Ford’s heart beat so loudly in his chest that he could hear it in his ears. Fear was steadily gripping his chest. How could this have gone so wrong? How could this have happened? 

Time seemed to stop as Stan’s gasp came through the radio. Ford could have cried with relief as he sagged against the table. 

“Oh thank God,” Ford gasped out. 

“Holy shit,” Stan’s voice sounded ragged as it came through the radio, “We—we’re not doing that again. Sweet Moses that hurt.”

Ford gripped his hair in his hands, shaking his head in shock. “Stan— I— I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey,” Stan’s voice softened. Ford felt a weight settle on his shoulder. He could imagine Stan putting a hand on him like he used to when they were growing up. For a moment, it soothed his frayed nerves. 

How had things gotten so messed up? This wasn’t what was supposed to happen to them. 

Ford urned to be able to see his brother. He wanted to look him in the eye, to laugh and joke around like old times, to sling his arm around his twins shoulder and apologize for all of his mistakes. 

“It’s not your fault, Ford. You didn’t mean to. Don’t worry about it, ok?” Stan said, the pressure on Ford’s shoulder tightening ever so slightly, as if Stan squeezed his shoulder. 

He had just put Stan through a world of pain, and yet it was him that was trying to comfort Ford. 

Ford let out a cold laugh at the irony. It was just so like Stan to care more for his twin than himself. 

(He really didn’t deserve a brother like Stan.) 

“I don’t know what happened. It should have worked. It shouldn’t have—“ Ford’s voice trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as that horrible scream echoed through his skull. 

“Relax, ok. You’ll figure it out. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” 

Ford heaved another sigh and straightened his spine. Turning to the table, he took one more look at his brother’s pale face before covering it with the sheet once more. 

“I’ll have to figure out what went wrong,” Ford said, voice low. “I won’t let that happen again. The next time we try something, I’m going to be 110% sure that it’s going to work with no pain and no side effects.” 

“You’ll figure it out, Sixer,” Stan said. There was not an ounce of doubt in Stan’s voice. Even after everything, he still had complete faith in his brother, “Come upstairs and take a break. You’ve been at this all day and Sherm’s making dinner.” 

Ford sighed. He itched to figure out what went wrong but Stan had a point. If he didn’t come up for dinner, Shermie would probably come down here and drag him upstairs and Ford didn’t want Shermie seeing their brother until Stan was good and whole again. 

“Alright,” Ford sighed reluctantly, “I’ll come back after dinner.” 

Stan snorted, “You’ll come back tomorrow. You need to get some sleep, bro.” 

Sleep. Just the thought of sleeping and facing Bill after this failure made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He had half a mind to fight the notion that he had to sleep, but he was too exhausted to fight tonight. He just wanted to be able to sleep without being possessed and haunted by his worst mistake. When was the last time he’d gotten a decent nights sleep? 

“Yeah, ok Stan,” Ford sighed, his voice sounding just as exhausted as he felt. 

——

“I take it that it didn’t work?” Shermie asked, the grin on his face quickly fading as only Ford entered the kitchen. 

A pressure resting on his shoulder reminded him that Stan was still there, even if he wasn’t visible to their eyes. 

Ford sighed, hanging his head, “Yes, something went wrong.” 

Shermie’s shoulders slumped. Ford could understand the disappointment he felt at that moment. 

“Stan reminded me to come up for dinner, but I’ll be back at it tomorrow.” Ford said, assuring Shermie that he wasn’t going to give up. As long as there was a chance he could bring Stan back, he wasn’t about to give up. 

“Hey, you’ll get it, Ford.” Shermie said, a soft smile that reminded him so much of their mothers spreading across his features. 

Ford wondered how their mother was. He couldn’t recall the last time he had talked to her. 

“I just hope it’s sooner rather than later.” Ford mumbled under his breath. Shermie motioned for him to come get some dinner. Ford’s stomach gave a loud grumble at the reminder of food and he helped himself to a bowl of ramen noodles that Shermie had set out for him. 

The two brothers settled down at the table and picked at their noodles. A third chair slid back ever so slightly. 

“Yeesh, you two are a couple of sour pusses.” Stan’s voice said, a playful edge to his tone, “You should be celebrating. We finally made some progress on tearing down the portal.”

The portal. That’s right! Ford had been so preoccupied with working on his own project that he had forgotten to ask how theirs went. 

“How far did you guys get?” Ford asked, feeling hope creep into his voice. With the portal unusable, he was another step closer to dealing with Bill. If he could just figure out a way to get rid of Bill, he could finally get back on track with his life and try to move forward. 

“I managed to get most of the outer panelings off. Hopefully by tomorrow, Shermie should be able to give me a hand.” Stan reported. 

“Finally.” Shermie muttered, “I ran out of jokes to tell after the first hour or two.”

“You’re just jealous I had better jokes than you.” 

“I was not!”

A small smile tugged on Ford’s lips. It was nice to hear his brothers playful banter. It was almost as if everything was back to normal. 

Almost. 

Ford hadn’t even realized he abruptly stood from his chair as an idea popped into his head until Shermie’s gaze sharply turned to him with a look of confusion. 

“What—!?” Shermie asked. 

“How could I have not thought of it sooner!” Ford exclaimed, slapping a palm against his forehead at his own nearsightedness. 

“Thought of what, Poindexter?” Stan asked. 

Ford couldn’t help the grin that tugged on his lips, “Stanley, we could do a summoning!” 

There was a moment of silence at Ford’s sudden exclamation until Shermie tentatively spoke up. 

“Not all of us are versed in black magic, you know?” Shermie said. 

“It’s not black magic!” Ford said, his words rapidly flowing from him in his excitement, “It’s a ritual we can perform to temporarily give Stan a form we can see!” 

“We can really do that?” Shermie asked. 

Ford nodded eagerly, “Yes! It’s a fairly simple ritual and I should already have all of the materials we need.” 

“Yeesh, you guys really miss seeing my ugly mug that much?” Stan asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

Guilt stabbed at Ford. Did his twin really doubt that he and Shermie would want to see him? Sure, hearing his voice was better than nothing, but after spending all day in the same room with Stan’s dead body, he longed to be able to see his brother when he talked to him, to know he was still really here. 

Talking to him as a ghost wouldn’t be quite the same, but it was better than nothing, and it would do until Ford could (hopefully) resurrect Stan successfully. 

“I haven’t seen my little brother in fourteen years. Of course I miss your ugly mug, you knucklehead!” Shermie chided him playfully. Judging by the grin on his face, Shermie was just as excited as Ford was. 

Just a few short weeks ago, Ford was more than content to not see his brother. Since they had parted ways, Ford had done his best to push away any thoughts of his brother. At college, he had thrown himself into his work, busting his ass twice as hard as the other students. It had been easy to ignore his brother then. If he had gone to West Coast Tech, he would have had all sorts of opportunities; he wouldn’t have needed to work nearly as hard as he did. 

Once he graduated, he moved to Gravity Falls. Once again, he threw himself into his work but it was harder to not think of his brother. Just a few months prior, he’d been investigating some findings down by the lake and had recalled the Stan o’War. For the first time in years, he had wondered what his brother was up to. 

He’d scratched the comment out of his journal and closed the book shut with a loud thunk. He was better off without him, he reminded himself. Stan would only ever hold him down. 

But that hadn’t been true, had it? 

Ford was never content since he and Stan parted ways. He hadn’t understood it then, but it was as if there was a gap in his life that Stan had filled. He’d tried to fill it with school, and then work. When he had befriended Fiddleford, he thought he had managed to finally fill that void, but he realized now that he couldn’t replace one person for another. 

Since Stan had come back into his life, things were different. It wasn’t him against the world anymore. Even if Stan wasn’t there in the flesh, it was nice to have his twin by his side again. 

In just a few short weeks, Ford’s life had been completely flipped over. His brothers had made progress on dismantling the portal, and as much as he was reluctant to admit it, regularly eating and sleeping had done wonders for him. 

What was perhaps the most surprising change was how much he longed to see his twin again. He was so tired of only hearing his voice. If he had to hear the grating sound of static one more day, he was going to lose his mind. 

He was going to bring his brother back if it was the last thing he did. 

But until then, conjuring his ghost brother would have to do. 

“So after dinner we’ll get this show on the road?” Ford asked. 

“Hell yeah, bro!” Stan exclaimed. Shermie nodded eagerly as he ate his ramen. 

Ok, maybe they did need to go food shopping, but that could wait another day or two. 

—-

It didn’t take long for Ford to gather and assemble everything they needed for the summoning once they’d finished their ramen. 

Five candles were lit in a circle with a lock of Stan’s hair in the center. Ford instructed Stan to stay in the center of the circle so that he’ll take a physical form once the spell was over. 

“I thought you were doing science up here,” Stan said as Ford flipped through the second journal for the correct incantation, “Not all this weird mumbo jumbo.”

“Magic might not be respected by most of the scientific community, but Gravity Falls is one of the few places on earth where magic is at its strongest.” Ford explained, not even glancing over the page he was scanning, “It might not seem like science, but I do take a scientific approach to studying magic and the strange creatures of this town.”

“I thought you went to school for Physics.” Shermie commented, “How exactly does physics help with any of this?” 

Ford huffed, “Physics has been instrumental in building the portal. It might be what my degree is in, but I assure you, I took plenty of other advanced biology and chemistry courses, among other things.” 

“Yeesh, alright. No one was doubting your credibility as a scientist, Poindexter,” Stan said, “Just wonderin’ how ghosts and monsters got involved, that’s all.” 

At last, Ford managed to find the incantation he needed. 

“Yes, well, this ‘weird mumbo jumbo’ as you put it, is what’s going to bring you back.” Ford said, “Is everyone ready?” 

“You bet!” 

“Hell yeah!”

A smile tugged at Ford’s lips, “Alright.” 

With a pause (where was the fun if there wasn’t any dramatics involved?), he read the incantation out in a loud, low voice, not daring to let his eyes stray from the page as the candles flames grew brighter, licking higher into the air. 

“A priori,  
Amicus curiae,  
Orbiter dictum,  
Swiper no swiping,  
Non compos mentis!”

With the incantation finished, the flames shot high into the air, almost reaching the ceiling before extinguishing. Slowly, a figure began to take place in the center of the circle. It started out faint, like a smudge on Ford’s glasses, before getting darker, more solid. 

Stan’s features began to stand out from the humanoid shape in the center of the circle. Ford’s lips involuntarily split into a large grin to see his brothers face after fourteen years (not counting when Stan was on the gurney) 

His smile strained as the last of the details came into view. Apart from being slightly transparent, Stan looked like he was alive again. 

Well, other than the fact that his ghosts wore the same injuries that had proved to be fatal. 

Ford blanched at the sight of them. It was one thing to see them when Stan was lying motionless on a slab. It was a whole other thing to see the wounds shift as Stan’s face moved. Ford was fairly certain Stan’s head hadn’t had a lump when they were kids. 

“S-Stan!” Shermie gasped. 

“In the flesh!” Stan was practically grinning ear from ear. 

“Well—“ 

“Ok, maybe not quite in the flesh, but close enough.” Stan shrugged, his grin not wavering in the slightest. 

Stan’s gaze turned towards Ford. His eyes softened slightly.

“Ford? You okay, buddy?” Stan asked. 

Ford jerked out a nod, opening his mouth to respond that yes, of course he was fine, but all that came out was a choked noise. 

Shocked by the noise that came from his mouth, Ford blinked several times in shock. As he did so, he became aware that his eyes were wet. 

When had he started crying? 

“Woah, woah, hey,” Stan said, voice softer than Ford had heard in years. It reminded him of all the years Stan had cheered him up from the cruel words of play yard bullies. 

The memory only made the tears course down his cheeks more. 

“There’s no need to cry, Sixer. Everything’s fine.” Stan said, taking a step towards him with an arm reached out. 

Ford jumped and waved his arms towards Stan, “Stan, wait, wait, no!” He exclaimed. Thankfully, Stan froze, “You can’t step out of the circle!”

Stan blinked at him with confused eyes. Ford sighed, taking off his glasses and swiping his sleeve across his face. 

“I’m— I’m fine.” Ford said firmly, “I’m just— it’s been a long time since I’ve actually seen you.”

With his admission, Ford stuck his glasses back on his face and lifted his gaze to Stan. His twin had a watery smile on his face as he met his gaze. 

“Aw, come on, Ford,” Stan scoffed. Judging from the quiver in his voice, Stan was on the verge of tears, “That’s just the sleep deprivation talkin’.”

Ford gave a short laugh. This wasn’t sleep deprivation. He might be tired, but he knew what sleep deprivation felt like and this wasn’t it. 

“No, I mean it, Stan,” he said, “I missed that ugly mug of yours.”

Both twins barked out a laugh, sounding almost relieved to laugh rather than cry, even if both brothers were just barely straddling that line. 

“We’re twins, dumbass. If I have an ugly mug, that means you do too.” Stan laughed. 

“Yeah, well, at least I don’t have a mullet.” Ford almost reached out to playfully shove Stan’s shoulder, but stopped himself last minute. Just because he could finally see Stan didn’t mean he could interact with him. His hand would only just go through Stan’s shoulder. 

“What? I don’t get no hello. I haven’t seen you in just as long, you know. Even longer, in fact!” Shermie protested. 

Stan laughed, moving back towards the center of the circle to see Shermie and Ford better. 

“Don’t think I’m gonna ignore ya, Shermie. I’ve got fourteen years of being an annoying younger brother to make up for and I intend to take full advantage of that.” Stan teased. 

“I’m glad we can agree on that. I have some affectionate, older brother noogies waiting for you when I can do it.” 

“Hey! How come Ford didn’t get any noogies!” Stan protested. 

Seeing the imminent danger that he was in, Ford stiffened. “Shermie, wait, no!” 

Shermie’s head slowly turned towards him, a devious grin slowly spreading across his face. 

“I do believe you have a point, Stan.” 

“Shermie, wait, you can’t break the circle!” Ford stammered off lamely. 

Alas, his fate was already sealed. Shermie was already pushing himself to his feet and approaching Ford. 

“You really need to work on your lying, bro. I can see right through your sorry excuses.” Shermie chastised with a shake of his head. Ford scrambled to move away but ended up even further on his ass. 

“Get him, Sherm!” Stan cheered him on, “Noogie! Noogie! Noogie!” 

“Shermie, wait, don’t do i—!” Ford’s desperate plea was cut off by a yelp as Shermie lunged at him with a speed that a man nearly a decade older than him shouldn’t have. Ford was quickly pinned to the ground and knuckles were ground into the top of his head, musing his hair. 

“Ow—! Shermie! Quit it!” Ford protested. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t push Shermie off of him. 

“Just let it happen, Ford. You know there’s no getting around this.” Shermie leveled to him. 

What probably only lasted a few moments felt like much longer. At long last, Shermie released his hold on him and allowed Ford to sit back up, only grinning in response to Ford’s glare. 

Shermie settled back down beside Ford as Ford attempted to fix his hair in a more presentable manner. 

“I’m so going to enjoy watching Shermie noogie you, Stanley.” Ford grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest once he was satisfied enough with his hair. 

Stan rolled his eyes. 

“He’s gonna have to catch me first.” 

“Oh no,” Shermie said, “You’re not getting away that easily. You’re due for a noogie. And a talk. Really, Stan? What were you thinking with this mullet?” 

“Hey!” Stan protested, “Mullets are in now! Just look at John Stamos!” 

“Is that what you were going for, Stanley?” Ford asked, raising an eyebrow, “It seems you might have missed the mark a bit.” 

“Or a lot.” Shermie added. 

“Ok, ok, I get it. You guys don’t like the mullet.” Stan grumbled.

“Ford,” Shermie said, “You should do us all a favor and cut Stan’s mullet before you Frankenstein him.”

A slow grin worked its way onto Ford’s face. 

“Ford, no!” Stan yelped, “Come on, Buddy! You wouldn’t do that to me, would ya?” 

“Well,” Ford said, tapping his chin in thought, “It would be a public service to chop off that monstrosity.” 

“Listen, if you cut off my hair, I’m going to replace all your coffee beans with dirt!” 

“Why do you always target my coffee!?” Ford retorted. 

“Yeah, Stan. You don’t just mess with a man’s coffee like that.” Shermie said, shaking his head, “Especially not when he’s doing you a favor.” 

Stan groaned and tipped his head into his hands. He muttered something under his breath that was too low for Ford to make out. 

Their banter continued in a similar fashion long into the night. Had Shermie not insisted that they needed their beauty sleep Ford was sure they would have talked into the morning. 

It was surprisingly nice. After spending so many years engrossed in his studies, he had forgotten what it was like to be around family, to have companionship. 

It was with regret and a heavy heart that he and Shermie said good night to Stan. Silently, Ford vowed to himself that he’d figure out what went so wrong earlier today and rectify his mistakes. Stan wouldn’t be stuck as a specter for much longer. 

Not if he had anything to say about it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, sorry this took so long. I've been sapped of all motivation to write lately. I know how I want this fic to end, but I haven't quite figured out exactly how I want to get there yet, so that doesn't help either. But I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe! Make sure to wash your hands frequently, and if you have to go out, wear appropriate PPE. Also plz make sure you practice self care; this time is very stressful and being stuck inside doesn't help ones well being. Please know if you need to talk to someone, you can message me (either on here, or I'll stick some links to places I frequent in my profile). Cheers!

It was as if a cloud of good luck passed over their heads after the failed attempt to resurrect Stan. A shiver still went down his spine whenever he thought about it, sending phantom pain coursing through his limbs. 

Or well, metaphorical limbs. Technically, his physical limbs were laying on a slab beneath his metaphorical feet. 

Stan wasn’t eager for whenever Ford was ready to try again. Being sent back into his body after it had been dead for over a week was like nothing he had ever felt before. 

And that was saying something considering all the shit he’d been through in the past decade or so. 

He could feel the rot and decay in his body, even despite Ford’s efforts to preserve him. His joints had been locked up and burned in agony and it felt like every inch of his being had burned with an intensity he had never felt before. 

His own scream echoed in his head. He hadn’t had a choice in the matter; he had been so overwhelmed by the pain that it was as if his body couldn’t do anything but scream. Even if screaming only caused more pain to his dry, burning throat. 

It was not something he wanted to experience again, but his desire to live again was stronger than his desire to avoid pain. 

For the first time in over ten years, he actually had a reason to live again. A real one anyways. 

Sure his dream of earning the money to come home had kept him going, but that wasn’t living. Most of the time, he was barely surviving. 

Now if he came back, he’d have a family again. Maybe he didn’t get the millions he wanted to prove them wrong, to make up for the mistakes he’d made, but he’d come to realize that life was too short to keep waiting for something that would probably never happen. 

When he got a second choice at life, he’d suck up his pride. He had already missed over a decades worth of Jacob’s birthday. It warmed his heart to know that Shermie told his son about him, but he didn’t want to be some story without a face. 

He wanted to be a part of his family. He wanted to tell awful Uncle jokes or attend sports games and birthday parties. 

And against all odds, Ford didn’t seem to merely put up with him. 

As he recalled the prior night's events, he was still shocked by the tears that had burned down Ford’s cheek, nor his brother's shocked face when he realized he was crying. 

Only in his wildest dreams would he entertain the idea that Ford may have missed him. Maybe Ford was still grieving, or maybe he was traumatized by Stan’s failed reanimation, but Stan knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

(He also knew better than to hope, but maybe dying had made him soft.)

Maybe Ford would still not want anything to do with him after this, but Stan was willing to take that chance. He missed his twin and best friend and wanted to be in his life again. 

Thankfully, Ford had slept through the whole night with no interruptions. Bill hadn’t showed his face to Stan, nor did Ford seem like he was having a nightmare. 

Even Ford had looked surprised when he woke up and found out that all had been quiet. 

Stan couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised either, but hopefully Bill finally realized that he wasn’t going to be able to convince or trick the Pines to do his bidding anymore. 

(Though the idea that Bill was probably scheming something else didn’t put him at ease.)

After a brief breakfast (Shermie of course complained about having to eat ramen noodles again) the brothers separated to their designated tasks once again. 

Ford had disappeared on the second floor to investigate what happened yesterday as Stan and Shermie continued to the bottom layer. 

To Shermie’s joy, he’d finally be able to help today. Stan was glad for it as well; that meant Shermie wouldn’t be able to tell as many bad Dad jokes, nor try to invite him to stay at his house again. 

The portal was still recognizable even though Stan had gotten most of the outer panels out of the way. Only scaffolding, support beams and intricate wiring remained. None of it made any sense to Stan, and he often found himself wondering how Ford had ever thought a machine as complex as this would do any good.

The machine still emitted a powerful pulse that chilled Stan to the bone. A thick forboding gloom permeated the air around the large cavern and Stan could feel the power it emanated. It seems his previous days' work had done little to affect that, much to his dismay. 

“Sooo,” Shermie said as he stared at the structure, “Do you have any idea where to start on this thing, ‘cause I’ve got nothing.”

Stan couldn’t help but laugh, thankful once more that Ford had thought to buy more radios when he last went out. 

“You’re asking a guy who didn’t even graduate high school. I was hoping you had a plan.” Stan replied. 

Shermie shook his head, carding a hand through his hair with his other hand propped on his hip, “I got nothing.”

Stan looked up at the massive inverted triangle, searching for ways to safely take it down. 

“Well, luckily breaking shit is my specialty.” Stan said, levitating himself off the ground and closer towards the top of the portal. 

“I guess I’ll maybe start working from the top, and you can hit those weird circular things on the ground.” Stan asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. 

Shermie glanced behind him to take a look at the circular structures on either side of the portal. They were far enough back that Stan could take apart the top and not have to worry about anything landing on Shermie. 

His brother seemed to be musing as well. After a moment, he shrugged. 

“Why not?” He said, picking up a wrench from the tool selection, “I guess these things look important too.” 

With a grunt, Stan yanked out a chunk of chords from the interior. Despite his words, he tried to keep them intact. Ford could probably reuse most of the materials for a future project or sell the parts for cash; Stan couldn’t imagine that building this thing had been cheap. 

Setting the wires down in a pile by the side of the room, Stan got back to work repeating the same things, ripping out chords and setting them down in their respective pile. 

The sound of metallic grinding echoed in the large room as Shermie used the wrench to undo the bolts securing the panels to the weird circular things. 

“What in the hell even are these things?” Shermie asked, as if sensing that Stan was wondering the same thing. 

“You’re asking the wrong twin. I’m just as confused as you are.” 

Shermie grunted as he leaned his weight into the wrench, “I’ll be glad to see all of this junk gone.” 

Stan let out a short laugh, “Ugh, you’re telling me. This thing gives me the creeps.”

‘The creeps’ was a bit of an understatement, but Stan didn’t want to get into the specifics with Shermie. He hadn’t even said as much to Ford. The thing was getting dismantled and he reckoned the three of them, Ford especially, just wanted to put it behind them. 

As the two brothers worked, the metallic clanks and groans filled the quiet basement space. A quick glance at Shermies face gave Stan all the indication he needed to know his brother was going to use their alone time to entice him to his house once again. 

Like hell Stan wanted to spend the day batting Shermies attempts whilst being so close to the machine that made his hair stand on end. 

“Hey, Sherm?”

His elder brother grunted in response, still appearing in thought. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time I got kicked out of a bar?”

“How’d you manage that?” Shermie asked, in the same tone that Stan recognized from his youth. With Shermie being significantly older, he had been nearly out of high school by the time Stan was a kid. Whenever Stan would tell Shermie some story that was exciting in his young mind, Shermie would always respond with the same monotone, fake interested response. 

“Dancing.” 

Shermie huffed quietly. “I’m sure you were ‘just dancing’.” He said, a mixture of sarcasm and humor in his tone. 

Stan couldn’t help but grin. Shermie was slowly warming up and luckily for Stan, drifting farther and farther from his thoughts of getting Stan to stay with him. 

“What? You don’t think I’m capable of getting kicked out of a bar for dancing? I thought you had more faith in me than that.” Stan scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. 

“Alright, Stan, I’ll bite. How did dancing get you kicked out?” Shermie asked. 

“Well,” Stan began, “The year was 1973. I was in Baton Rouge, right? Business was going well so I decided to go to a bar. I’d had a few drinks and saw a couple of cute babes on the dance floor.” 

“Oh God.” Shermie groaned. 

“The one gal in particular was giving me the eyes. Kept whisperin’ to her friends who giggled at her. So I decided that I’d show them a few of my moves, ya know?”

“Let me guess, she didn’t like your moves?” Shermie interrupted with a laugh. 

“As if, brother of little faith.” Stan retorted, “I laid it on real thick. Pretty soon, the whole dance floor was watchin’ me, cheerin’ me on and what not.” 

“So how’d you get kicked out?” Shermie asked. 

“Well,” Stan said, “I may or may not have spilled quite a bit of my drink on the floor in the process. I didn’t realize the floor was that wet and slipped right on my ass. Fell back into some guy who spilled his drink on another girl. She slaps him across the face and he bumps into some other guy. Pretty soon, there was a full on brawl.” 

“Stanley.” Shermie groans. 

“I know what you’re thinkin’; where was I in all this, right?” Stan asked, pausing for dramatic effect, “Well, some other guy got pushed into me while I was gettin’ off the floor, and let’s just say, those boxing lessons really came in handy that night.”

Shermie groaned loudly. 

“Of course, the bouncer decides its me that has to go, right? Next thing I know, I’m gettin’ shoved out to the side walk with the door blocked by this massive guy. I tried explainin’ to him what happened but he wouldn’t let me back in.”

“I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t.” Shermie said, voice thick with sarcasm. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get a chance to get that girls number, but I did get a job offer that night.” Stan said. 

“Oh?” 

“Yep. Couple of guys say the way I charmed that girl with my dancin’. Said I was real good and asked if I’d be interested in dancin’ at this other club in town. Said they knew the owner and one of their other dancers had just left.” 

“Please tell me you said no.” 

“I’m not an idiot, Shermie. Of course I said yes. They set up a meetin’ with the owner and I got the job. For the next few months, I was the best dancer in the joint. Made a killin’ with all the tips. The ladies loved me! Well, at least they did until the place got shut down. I stuck around town for a bit but business got dry so I moved on to the next place. But that’s how I got kicked out of a bar.” 

“I don’t know if I can envision you as a dancer.” Shermie said skeptically. 

“It’s too bad you can’t see me now. I’m dancing for ya right now.” Stan teased. 

Ok, so maybe that was a lie. Stan was too busy yanking out a particularly important looking clump of wires. It took a good yank from his end to detach it from the machine. As the wires came loose, the strange energy emanating from the portal significantly shrank, eliciting a gasp from Stan. 

The wires slipped from his grasp, tumbling from the top of the bottom to the floor. It landed with a loud clatter that caused both Stan and Shermie to jump. 

“I’m starting to understand why the bar kicked you out,” Shermie replied, “What was that, Stan?” 

“Sorry, Sherm,” Stan replied, “I’m wondering the same thing.” 

Lowering himself to the ground, he paused to inspect what he’d drop. 

“What happened?” Shermie asked. 

After a moment of scrutinizing the wires, Stan deemed that he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. As he stood directly under the portal, he didn’t feel quite the amount of overbearing energy emanating from it anymore. 

Angling his eyes above, Stan also realized he didn’t have an answer for Shermie’s question. 

“I don’t know.” 

The brief silence that filled the room was shattered by the sound of the elevator door opening from the other side of the control room. Rapid footsteps approached them before the door separating the portal room from the control room burst open, revealing a frantic Ford. 

“What happened? Is everyone ok?” 

“Everyone’s fine.” Shermie said. He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. 

“Sorry, I must have lost my concentration and dropped some of the wiring.” Stan admitted. 

“Those wires there?” Ford asked, noticing the disorganized clump sitting apart from the pile Stan had been making. 

“Yeah.” Stan replied, watching as Ford approached him, stooping down to examine the wires. After a moment, his eyebrows pinched thoughtfully. Turning his head up, he scrutinized the portal, his eyes flickering back and forth. 

“These were the main power chords.” Ford declaimed, straightening his back. 

A poignant pause drew out following Ford's declaration. 

“Guess there’s no going back now.” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio. 

Fords lips pressed together, his expression hard to make out. Stan took a few steps closer, reaching out to rest his hand on his brother's shoulder and offer comfort. 

“Hey bro, it’s oka—“ Stan’s voice abruptly trailed off as his hand phased through his twin's shoulder.

Huh. 

He tried again, making sure to concentrate on his hand. 

His hand fell through again. 

“Stan?” Ford asked. “Stanley?”

“Huh? Yeah?” Stan asked, struggling to wrap his head around why he couldn’t put his hand on Fords shoulder anymore. 

“You ok? You just stopped mid-sentence.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Stan replied. 

Ford didn’t look too convinced. He looked thoughtful before asking, “So you unplugged the power chord and it fell?” 

Stan shrugged, “Pretty much.” 

“Did anything else weird happen?” 

Stan hesitated, debating on if he should mention his hand phasing through, “I’m not quite sure.” 

“What do you mean?” Ford asked. 

Stan shrugged, “It could be nothing.” 

“Well, what’s going on?” Ford pressed. 

Stan sighed, “My hand phased through your shoulder just a few seconds ago. I tried again, but the same thing happened.” 

“Hmm,” Ford hummed thoughtfully, crossing his arms behind his back. He paced across the floor, uttering quietly to himself. 

“Uh, Ford,” Stan said, his eyes following his twin as he paced across the floor. His brother didn’t give any indication that he heard Stan as he continued to murmur to himself, “Earth to Stanford!” 

“That’s it.” Ford halted in his footsteps. Jerking his head up from his feet, he added, “Stanley, I need you to come with me.” 

“What’s going on?” Stan asked. 

“I have a hypothesis and I need to test it.” Ford said, “I need you to follow me.” 

“Um,” Stan droned, “Sure. Lead the way.”

Wordlessly, Ford spun around and retreated towards the elevator. Stan hurried to follow, saying a quick farewell to a confused Shermie. 

The elevator door started to slide close just as Stan slid through. Once the elevator started to climb upwards, Ford began to speak. 

“You didn’t notice anything different prior to pulling that last bit of wires out, correct?” Ford asked. Stan merely glanced towards Ford with a deadpan look. 

As if Ford could see Stan’s expression, his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. “Oh. Right. No radio in here.” 

Once the elevator reached the ground floor, the door slid over and the brothers wordlessly climbed the flight of stairs leading up to the house. From there, the sounds of radio static crackled faintly from the rooms. 

Ford hurried past the front rooms, darting straight towards a pile of boxes in the corner. He easily produced a small, hand-held device and hurried towards the small table. A radio sat on the table top, white noise filling the quiet room. 

“To answer your question, yes, nothing weird happened before that.” Stan replied, just to break the silence. 

“I suspected as much.” Ford said, not looking up from the small device he was fiddling with in his hands. “Fiddleford and I devised this machine to sense how strong apparitions are. I should have scanned you before so I could have a control, but hopefully we can still deduce whether or not there’s been any change to your powers.” 

Stan blinked several times, taking in what Ford said, “You really think that my powers have changed? What if it was just a fluke?” 

“I’m hoping that’s the case,” he said in a solemn tone, “However, I don’t think it’s by coincidence that your powers appeared to have weakened after you pulled out the main powers chords.” 

Stan gulped. He didn’t want to consider that that was the case. Ford didn’t know about the energy Stan had sensed from the portal. He also wasn’t aware of how that had also weakened once the power cord was pulled. 

Ford was right, it seemed like too much of a coincidence but Stan didn’t want to consider the alternative. The portal had to go, but what if that meant that Stan too would lose all ability to communicate? 

“I need you to sit in the chair across from me so I can scan you.” Ford instructed. Stan did as told, sinking down into the empty chair. 

“Alright. Now what?” Stan asked. 

Ford pressed a button and held the device across the table, pointing it towards Stan’s direction. Several lights on the machine flickered and once the reading was done, beeped. 

Ford pulled the machine back, his eyes flickering over a small screen. Stan waited silently. If he had a heart, he was sure it would be beating fast enough that he could feel it in his chest. 

Time seemed to drag on as Ford examined the screen until finally, he gave a sigh. 

“What? What is it, Sixer?” Stan asked, leaning closer to his twin. 

Ford carded a hand through his hair with another sigh, “I can’t be 100% certain but I think your powers have weakened.” 

“How do you know?” Stan asked, “I mean, as you said, you didn’t scan me before.” 

“That’s correct,” Ford acknowledged, “But your powers were incredibly strong for being so recently deceased. To my knowledge, it’s unprecedented that a new spirit could be able to interact with objects, let alone to the high degree of control that you had. That kind of power takes decades, maybe even centuries, to be acquired.

“That being said, you should have a higher reading than what this device gave you just now.” 

Stan was silent, slowly letting the information sink in. 

“Of course,” Ford interjected, “As you said, we didn’t scan you before and it’s been a while since I’ve used this device so we can’t be 100% certain that it’s reading is correct, but we also can’t rule out that maybe your powers are tied to the portal.” 

Stan shook his head. This was a lot to process, though it gave him some comfort that it appeared that Ford didn’t want to believe it either. 

“Tied to the portal? What do you mean? I thought it was because of unfinished business or some shit like that.” Stan asked. 

“Perhaps that’s part of it. That’s usually the reason why spirits linger after their death. But as I said, new ghosts usually aren’t as strong as you are,” Ford explained, “It’s possible that after you died, your spirit somehow drew energy and power from the portal. It would make sense; the portal was strategically built in a weak part of the fabric of the universe and it requires an extensive power source to operate it. If your spirit attached itself to it, then that would explain why you had so much power as a new ghost, as well as why it just suddenly weakened after you unplugged the main power source.” 

“Then what are we going to do? We need to tear that thing down, but if we do, will it mean I’ll cross on or something?” Stan asked. 

Ford dropped his head into his hands, “I don’t know,” Ford admitted, “There’s no way of knowing what would happen. Your powers could weaken until you have the levels that most new spirits have, or you could cross over, or maybe you’d be stripped from all your powers. I don’t know!” 

Ford’s voice pitched up as he finished speaking. Stan frowned sympathetically, wanting to reach out again to comfort his twin but knowing he wouldn’t be able to do anything. He was helpless to help his twin, who was probably feeling just as helpless as he was. Ford was used to knowing all the answers. Now he didn’t know the answers when it came to his own twin, and Stan couldn’t imagine how that would feel. 

“Hey, it’s ok, bro.” Stan replied, “You said that was the main power source so it shouldn’t be able to function now, right?” 

Ford sat back up, nodding subtly. 

“Ok, then Bill can’t use it, and it’d take him a while to get it functional again,” Stan explained, “Shermie can keep taking down parts of the portal that don’t have to do with its power source. That way, he can still make some progress on tearing it down, while also buying you more time to finish tweaking the whole Frankenstein-thing.” 

Ford slowly nodded. Stan could practically see the gears moving in his head as he considered Stan’s idea. 

“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, that could work.” 

Stan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, feeling relieved that he wouldn't lose more of his ability to communicate with his family. He’d just gotten them back and he didn’t want to lose them again. 

“I just wish there was a manual or instruction book for this shit.” Stan grumbled, mainly to himself. He couldn’t be the only ghost that was able to communicate with someone, right? If he’d been able to figure out how to work at least some of his powers, then certainly someone else had done so as well. 

“That would be nice, but when has anything gone easy for us?” Ford muttered back miserably. 

“Heh,” Stan laughed bitterly, “True.”

“Stanley, listen to me though. This is very important,” Ford said, “Try to not use your powers as much as you can. We don’t know if using them will deplete them anymore, so let Shermie handle taking down the portal. That also means no more doing laundry, or dishes when we’re gone, ok? Unless it’s absolutely necessary, don’t use your powers.” 

Stan blinked a few times in surprise. Ford was looking intently at the chair, his expression serious. Once again, Stan was surprised, and touched, by how much his twin seemed to care. 

Swallowing the lump growing in his throat, Stan nodded. 

“You got it, Poindexter.” He said. 

Ford sighed, “Good.” 

“Guess we should tell Shermie though.” Stan said. Ford nodded and pushed himself to his feet. Despite getting more sleep than he probably got in the week before Stan ‘arrived’, he looked exhausted and as if he’d aged several years. 

Stan’s hands clenched. Nothing seemed to be going smoothly. He still had no idea how long Ford had been trying to deal with the situation on his own, but considering he had been desperate enough to call upon the twin he hadn’t spoken to for over ten years, Stan could imagine it had been a while. 

Ford was in desperate need for a break, yet fate would have it that more problems would pile up on him. 

Once this was all done though, Stan was going to make sure that Ford took a break. 

Getting a change in scenery would probably help. Maybe some time away from Gravity Falls would do him some good. 

“I guess we should.” Ford said, tugging Stan out of his thoughts. Silently, the twins retreated back to the elevator. As the door opened on the bottom floor, they were met by the metallic sounds of Shermie still at work. 

“Shermie,” Ford called as he opened the door separating the portal from the control room. 

“Hey,” Shermie said as he sat up, “Everything alright?” 

“Not entirely,” Ford reported. He explained the situation to Shermie, instructing him on their plan to only take apart the parts of the portal that didn’t connect to its power supply. 

“It’s not going to affect Stan anymore, will it?” Shermie asked. 

Ford rubbed the back of his neck, “We’re not sure. There’s a lot of variables in this, but we’re hoping that it shouldn’t.” 

“Besides, this thing has to go one way or another. We can’t afford to pause all work on it,” Stan interjected, “It was my idea anyway, and if it does weaken my powers more, then that’s better than just letting this thing stay down here as it is.” 

Shermie sighed, wiping his brow with a sleeve, “Alright then. If that's what you two agreed on, then that’s what we’ll do.” 

Ford nodded, “Thank you, Shermie. I’m going to go back to working on reanimating Stan, but if you have any questions about whether or not something has to do with the power source, let me know.” 

Shermie nodded and he and Stan said their fair wells as Ford retreated back to the elevator. 

Once Stan was sure that Ford was far enough away that he wouldn’t hear, Stan turned to Shermie. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Shermie.” 

“A deal?” Shermie asked, confused. 

“Yeah. After this is all over, I’ll come visit you for a bit, but only if you help me convince Ford to come too.” 

“Of course,” Shermie said, his eyes lighting up. For a moment, Stan almost didn’t feel uneasy about mooching off of his older brother, if not just to see Shermie look somewhat happy, “But why? Why do you want Ford to come?”

“The guy needs a break.” Stan explained, “He’s dealing with a lot of stress right now, and I think it’ll do him some good to get away from here for a bit, and to be around family as well.” 

Shermie nodded in agreement, “Ok, yeah.” 

“But can you do me one favor, Shermie?” Stan asked. 

Sensing the serious tone in Stan’s voice, Shermie nodded seriously, “Of course.” 

“If something happens, say I do lose my powers, or I move on, or this resurrection thing doesn’t work, I need you to promise me that once this is all over, you’ll try to convince Ford to visit you anyways.” Stan explained. 

Shermie blinked at the implication, understanding that this was in the event that Stan wouldn’t be around to convince Ford himself, “Yeah. Yeah, of course, Stan. But we won’t have to worry about that, alright?” 

“Yeah, I know, Sherm,” Stan sighed. 

“You promised me that you’d come to visit, so I’m holding you to that,” Shermie said, a small smile creeping onto his lips. It didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes, “I’ll drag you there myself, even if it means I have to make a deal with the devil. You’re not getting out of this one.” 

Stan chuckled weakly, smiling affectionately at his older brother, “I know, Sherm. I’ll make good on my promise if you make good on yours.” 

Shermie nodded solemnly. 

“It’s a deal.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I try to have a chapter or two written ahead of time before I post a new chapter and unfortunately, I had JUST finished writing chapter 13 when my phone glitched and deleted the entire note D: It took me a bit to get the motivation to want to write it all again but I slipped in a Beetlejuice reference into this chapter so I hope that makes up for it! I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe! Enjoy! <3

Besides the road block with taking down the portal, and not making anymore progress on resurrecting Stan, things were going surprisingly well. 

It seems after Shermie ‘spoke’ with Bill, his old muse had decided to leave him alone. 

That wasn’t to say that Ford was sleeping soundly. Rather, he was plagued by a few nightmares. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Just images of Stan’s corpse slumped over a steering wheel, staring at him with cloudy, sightless eyes that seemed somehow accusatory despite their blank look. 

Ok, so maybe things weren’t going so well. 

Even if Stan had never once suggested as much, his eyes in Ford’s dream seemed to tell him it was his fault that he died. 

He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Bill planting those images in his head, or if it was just plain guilt. When he’d been in college, he had taken as many different courses as he could to develop his knowledge in as many topics as he could. Except for Psychology that is. 

He hadn’t imagined it would be useful to him, but now he found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he understood the human brain just a bit better. 

When he finally awoke from the dream, the snow covered trees that had surrounded Stan when he drew his last breath were nowhere in sight. (He wasn’t going to think about how they were just down the lane). Instead, he was staring up at his ceiling, hands bound and white noise buzzing in his ear. 

The sound was reassuring. It meant Stan might be there. 

“Stan?” He asked, his own voice sounding tired to his own ears. 

“Up already?” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio a moment later. Ford’s eyes drifted to the clock on the bedside table. By most people’s standards, it was early. 

“I suppose so.” Ford mumbled, not quite knowing what else to say. Not when the image of Stan’s blank eyes stared back at him every time he blinked, as if the image was permanently painted under his eyelids. 

He was brought back out of his thoughts as he felt pressure on his wrists. As the ties fell away a few moments later, it occurred to Ford that Stan was undoing his ties. 

“That’s good enough, Stan,” Ford replies, “I can get the rest; conserve your energy.” 

The white noise continued to drone on, but despite not being able to see his twin (not to mention the ten plus years between now and the last time Ford had actually seen his twin), Ford knew Stan was staring at him with a look of displeasure. 

He probably wasn’t too pleased with the whole ‘conserving his energy’ thing. 

Regardless, Stan would just have to deal with it. Jeopardizing Stan just to untie Ford’s binds was out of the question. 

“I assume Shermie isn’t awake yet?” Ford asked as he wiggled the binds on his other hand loose. It was difficult, considering he only had one hand, and while he could practically feel Stan itching to just undo the ties, it wasn’t impossible. 

“Considering most normal people aren’t awake, I’d say no.” Stan replied, a hint of humor in his tone as it drifted through the radio. 

Ford couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

“I’ve never been any good at being normal.” He said, more to himself as he finally undid the binds on his other hand. 

Stan chuckled as Ford reached down to start untying his ankles. The sound caused Fords lips to tilt upwards ever so slightly. 

“Guess that makes two of us.” Stan said. He hadn’t said it out loud, but the words ‘it’s us against the world’ hung in the air between them. 

The last of the ties came away as Ford's stomach twisted. 

“Stanley—“ he began, his voice trailing off. A thousand words bounced around his head, leaving him utterly clueless to figure out where he should even begin. 

A pause. Then Stan spoke, “Yeah?” 

Ford squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to not chicken out. Images of pale, glassy eyes forced his eyes open again. 

“I’m sorry, Stanley. I’m so sorry.” He whispered honestly. 

Stan sputtered. “Come on, Ford. This ain’t your fault.” He said, and for a brief moment, Ford wasn’t sure what Stanley was referring to. There was a mountain of wrongs that Ford had committed against his own twin. 

Ford hadn’t realized he had gotten too wrapped up in his head to reply until Stan spoke again, probably just to fill the silence. 

“If you’re meaning the whole, ya know, bein’ dead thing, that wasn’t your fault. If it didn’t happen now, it probably would have happened in a matter of time anyways.” Stan said. He laughed, if not a bit humorlessly, “I mean, it’s kind of a miracle I’ve made it this far to be honest.” 

The last words were spoken quietly, as if Stan hadn’t meant for Ford to hear them, but it only made his gut twist further. 

“Stanley, I know.” Ford replied. For a few moments, Stan was oddly quiet, not even attempting to fill the silence. They had barely touched the subject when Shermie had arrived, but so much had been going on that he and Stan hadn’t been able to properly talk yet. 

“Shermie told me you’re homeless and living out of your car. He hadn’t known that I didn’t realize it because he assumed I had seen the signs, which if I wasn’t always so selfish I might have.” 

The words flowed out of him like a dam bursting and Ford found that he couldn’t stop word vomiting. 

Stan seemed shocked in silence, or maybe it was just embarrassment. 

“It’s my fault you’re in this situation. If I had just heard you out all those years ago, I could have done something. But I was so convinced you’d ruined my life that I hadn’t stopped to think that maybe it was the other way around.

“You made a mistake. One that cost me my dream school, but not getting into that school hadn’t ruined my life. If anything, I ruined my own life by being blind to Bill's flattery.

“I could have reached out to you in the years we were apart, but I hadn’t. I convinced myself that you were fine, that I was better off without you, but I didn’t want to accept that maybe I had been wrong. That maybe I had ruined your life, instead of the other way around.

“But now you’re dead, and that’s also my fault because I called you here. I ruined Fiddlefords life because of a portal that’s a danger to the whole universe and I was supposed to be a genius but,” Ford finally stopped to take a breath, realizing that he had started pacing. He froze midstep, his hands clenching at his side. 

“I’m nothing but a fool.” 

Ford's shoulders sagged as he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Throughout his whole tirade, he had wished that he could have seen Stan in order to see his brother's expression, or look him in the eyes (don’t think about his dead eyes) and express his sincerity, but now he was glad he couldn’t see him. 

Stan hadn’t once said anything that suggested Ford was at fault. His twin had dropped everything to come when Ford had called him for the first time in over ten years. Looking back, Ford winced to think that if Stan had come, his plan had been to give him the journal and tell him to leave.

He had told Stan he hadn’t been planning on letting their silence last forever, but how true was that? Sure, he hadn’t intended that, but he probably would have pushed off reconnecting with his twin in favor of ‘more important’ work. 

The thought made him shrink in on himself in shame. 

He didn’t deserve a brother like Stanley. 

Or Shermie for that matter, who had left his family to help out a brother who hadn’t called in who knows how long. 

“Stanford,” Stan replied after a pause, breaking Ford's train of thought. “You knucklehead, you can’t blame yourself for any of that.” 

“But—“ Ford interjected. 

Stan cut him off before he had a chance to finish, “I ain’t gonna lie to you, Ford. It hurt that you didn’t hear me out about the project, or that you didn’t contact me for so long.” 

Ford’s face burned with shame as he looked at his hands. 

“But the choices I made and the things that happened after that were not your fault.” Stan said firmly, “You couldn’t have known about any of that, and for what it’s worth, I never wanted you or Shermie to know about any of that.” 

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked up, eyes flickering around the room. 

Something brushed over his shoulder and a comforting weight settled over his hand. Despite himself, a small smile tugged at Ford’s face. He looked to the seemingly empty space beside him, knowing his brother was there with him. 

“I never wanted either of you two to know about what a loser I’ve become.” Stan said, his voice quieter as it came through the radio. 

Ford turned his hand over, his palm facing upwards. He wished he could squeeze Stan’s hand but this was the best he could do. 

“Stanley,” Ford said, desperately searching the open air beside him, “You’re not a loser.” 

Stan laughed humorlessly, “Yeah right. I’m not that dumb, Ford. I may not have finished high school, but I know anyone who’s done even half of the things I have is a loser.” 

Ford shook his head, “I can’t say I know the things you’ve done. I hope one day you’ll tell me about them, but I know that you did what you had to do to survive.”

Ford’s fingers curled slowly, closing his eyes to imagine squeezing Stan’s hand, “You’re a good person, Stanley. Not to mention a better brother. A far better one than I am. I don’t deserve you or Shermie helping me, and if it weren’t for the Universe being at stake, I wouldn’t take your help.”

Even despite the long years that had passed since Ford had last seen his brother, Ford knew Stan was about to protest. 

“And I’m not saying this so that you’ll tell me I’m wrong. I’m saying this because— I’m sorry for how things have been, for the things I’ve done and haven’t done.” He pauses to swallow the lump growing in his throat, “And I hope that one day I can make it up to you.” 

A soft, almost disbelieving chuckle sounded from beside him as Ford felt Stan’s hand squeeze his. 

“Ford, all I ever wanted was to have my best friend back. That’s more than good enough for me.” 

His eyesight blurred as his eyes welled with tears. Blinking rapidly, Ford squeezed his hand, satisfied to feel the invisible pressure of Stan’s hand fit perfectly into his. 

For a blissful few moments, they remained like that. When Ford closed his eyes, it almost seemed as though everything was normal and ok. He could feel the shape of Stan’s hand in his, still familiar after all of these years. He knew that if he opened his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see Stan, but in that moment, everything was ok. 

After a few seconds, Stan’s hand squeezed his. 

“Come on, bro. Why don’t you take a shower or somethin’. Shermie is going to be grumpy about having to eat more ramen for breakfast, you shouldn’t subject him to that smell.” Stan said. Ford couldn’t help the small twitch of his lips. 

Stan always knew how to cheer him up, even if just a little. That much hadn’t changed in over a decade. 

A thought entered his head like a light bulb flashing on. 

Ford’s back straightened with the realization that he might have something to give Stan the same feeling of normalcy as he had given Ford. He had almost forgotten that he had it. He had no idea how legitimate it was, but if it even had some shred of truth to help, then maybe he could help his brother for once. 

“That’s it!” He exclaimed, jumping to his feet. 

“What’s it?” Stan asked, clearly confused and not following Ford’s near-manic excitement.

Hurrying to his closet, Ford reached to the shelf above. 

“Do you remember what you said yesterday?” Ford asked as he blindly felt around the top shelf. 

“Uh,” Stan trailed off for a moment, “Which part?”

“The part about wishing there was a manual for being a ghost!” Ford explained. His fingers brushed against a box, “Aha!”

He carefully pulled the box off the shelf and placed it on the floor. The box mainly contained miscellaneous objects and trinkets he had found and didn’t have space for. After six years of studying Gravity Falls, he’d accumulated quite a bit of artifacts during his research. 

He’d found a home for most of it throughout his house, but eventually, he ran out of space and had to start storing some of the less dangerous or significant items out of sight. 

“You’re kiddin’.” Stan said, sounding either shocked or skeptical. 

“I’m not.” Ford insisted as he rooted through the box, “I had almost forgotten about it; I found the book at the library. It wasn’t catalogued in their collection, and I don’t think anyone even knew it was there, so I took it.” 

“So you stole it.” 

Ford paused, “I didn’t steal it! It didn’t belong to the library!” 

“Bro, you took something and didn’t pay for it. That’s kind of the definition of stealing.” Stan replied back. 

“But—!” Ford paused, floundering for words. He hadn’t ever thought of it as stealing, “No one was reading it! I doubt anyone even knew it was there! It’s not stealing if I’d get a better use out of it!” 

Stan laughed, “I’ve heard that excuse a million times before. Hell, I’ve even used it. But hey, if it helps you to sleep at night, fine. You didn’t steal it.” 

With an intelligible grumble, Ford got back to shifting through his box. With each item he moved, he found his frustration mounting. He knew he had it somewhere.

If it wasn’t in this box, then where else could he have put it?

“The attic!” He yelled, in answer to his own unspoken question. Abandoning the box on the floor, he leaped to his feet and hurried out of the room. 

He only got as far as to the end of the hall before stopping and returning to his room again. 

“There’s no radio upstairs.” Ford explained as he unplugged the radio and tucked it under his arm. The reprieve from the white noise was soothing to his ears which had grown tired of the constant static. But considering it made Stan so uneasy to not have the radio on, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it downstairs. 

He hurried to the stairs that led to the attic and hurried up the steps, hoping that Stan was following behind. 

Turning the knob to the door, he let himself into the attic space. Morning light streamed into the window, but gazing at that triangular shaped window caused his stomach to churn. 

How long had Bill been influencing him? The house was built six years ago. Back then, the triangle window had seemed like a good fit for the house, but now Ford wondered if Bill had some influence in that decision as well. 

Ford shook his head and shoved some boxes away from the wall until he found an outlet. The radio buzzed back to life as he plugged it in. 

“Are you there, Stan?” 

“I’m here, bro.” Stan’s voice crackled through the radio. 

Ok. Good. Turning to face the rest of the room, Ford studied the numerous boxes that filled the room. The book could be in any of them, but he didn’t exactly have all the time in the world to search through all of them. 

Then again, if he put the book in the attic, he would have been careful to pick a container that would keep it safe in case the roof leaked. A cardboard box wouldn’t do, so that at least eliminated that. 

Ford got to work, moving the cardboard boxes to the side and out of his work area. It wasn’t until he had moved the boxes by the window that he revealed a large, oak chest. 

Sitting in front of the chest, he slid the hook out of the lock and opened the lid. Dust blew upwards in his face, causing him to cough a few times, but as the dust settled, there it was. 

It was a large, hard covered book with a worn cover. The words ‘Handbook for the Recently Deceased’ stared back at him, with a picture of a man and woman holding hands and gazing at a sunset beneath depicted on the cover. 

Carefully, he picked up the old book and placed it on his lap. It was a hefty book and it had a solid weight to it, as well as a layer of dust on the cover, which he wiped off. 

“This is it.” Ford said, “Are you seeing this?”

“I’m right beside you.” Stan replied, sounding almost in awe. 

Ford angled the book to the left, taking a guess as to which side Stan was on so he could get a better look. 

“Other side, bro.” 

“Ah.” Ford adjusted the book accordingly, “I don’t know if the information in this book is accurate by any means, but there’s no indication of who wrote it, or when it was written. The only information is the publisher, Handbook for the Recently Deceased Press.” 

He carefully opened the cover and flipped through the first couple pages. 

He stopped on a random page, pausing to read a passage. 

“Some handbook.” Stan grumbled, “This thing reads like a radio manual, no joke intended.” 

“It’s certainly not a typical handbook, but it makes sense that a handbook for ghosts wouldn’t be straight forward.” 

Stan sighed, “I guess. Nothing can be too easy, right?”

Ford snorted, “You have a point.” He closed the book with a soft thud, “Hopefully it will still have some information that will be useful to you. It’s certainly better than nothing.” 

“You’re right. Besides, what else can I do now that I can’t use my powers? Stare at the wall?”

Ford smiled sympathetically. “Exactly. It’ll give you something to do, even if it is fake.” 

“Yeah,” Stan said. A brief silence stretched between them as Ford stared at the cover of the book, “Come on, bro. You found the book; you have no excuse now to keep avoiding that shower.” 

Ford sighed and closed the chest, sliding the lock back into place. After tucking the book carefully into the pocket of his coat, he got to his feet. 

“Alright. Let’s go.” He said, making his way back towards the door. He paused to crouch down and unplug the radio. 

“Hold on a sec.” Stan’s voice crackled through, stilling Ford’s hand, “What’s this?”

Ford straightened up and turned around, “What’s what?” 

“This box here, at ten o’clock.” Stan said. “There’s a box here with old film reels. Are these...?” 

His brother's voice trailed off, sounding hesitant. Like he was too afraid to finish his question. 

Ford approached the box and picked up one of the reels. A smile tugged at his lips, “It’s those films Ma took,” Ford said, “They’ve got to be the ones from the summer we found the Stan o’ War.” 

Ford picked up a few more reels, reading the labels written in his mother’s hand writing. 

God, he missed her. 

He hadn’t noticed Stan’s silence until his brother's tentative voice crackled softly through the radio, “You kept them? Even after all these years?” 

Frowning thoughtfully, Ford tried to ignore how Stan’s voice caused a pang in his heart. Had his brother thought he got rid of anything that involved Stan after he got kicked out? Sure, he hadn’t watched these since he was a kid, if he even had watched them then, but never did he have the heart to throw them out. 

“Of course I did.” Ford said quietly. Carefully, like he was afraid he would break them, he returned the reels to the box, “I think I have a projector around here somewhere. If I can find it, we should all watch them together.” 

When Stan didn’t immediately reply, Ford was worried that he said something wrong. Thankfully though, Stan finally spoke a few moments later, his voice sounding strained.

“Yeah,” he said, “That would be nice.” 

Ford allowed himself to smile slightly. He might not have been able to admit it even just a week or so ago, but he could admit it now. 

“I’ve missed you, Stan.”

“I’ve missed you too, Sixer.” 

Ford smiled fondly at the nickname. Bill might have stolen it, but it had been Stan’s first. 

“Now come on, let’s get you washed up before Shermie wakes up.” Stan said. 

Ford nodded and got to his feet once more. He unplugged the radio from the wall and picked it up from the floor, protectively cradling the machine against his chest. The two brothers made their way downstairs to get ready for the day. 

——

After Ford showered and got dressed, he went to the kitchen to read. He set the book down by the table so that Stan could read it if he wanted whilst Ford prepared two bowls of ramen noodles for breakfast. 

It wasn’t much longer after Ford had finished cooking that Shermie came into the kitchen. Ford handed his brother a bowl with a small smile. Shermie grumbled a ‘morning’ as he took the bowl.

Grabbing a bowl of his own, Ford joined his brother to eat their breakfast ramen. 

They ate mostly in silence (or as close to silence as they could with the radio buzzing beside them) seeing as Shermie was still waking up. 

A few minutes later, Shermie’s fork dropped into his bowl with a clatter. 

“That’s it!” He said, startling Ford, “I can’t do this.”

Ford blinked, his mouth merely hanging open. 

“What do you mean, Sherm?” Stan’s voice came through the radio. 

Shermie sat up in his chair, “I can’t keep eating these damn noodles anymore.”

“Can’t say I exactly blame you there.” Stan mumbles through the radio. 

“I know it’s not the most...” Ford pauses, eyes dropping to his own bowl of noodles. He grimaced slightly, “Idea meal, but—“

“No!” Shermie sharply cuts him off, “No buts! We are adults, Stanford. We’re not college students who can’t afford to eat anything but ramen noodles.” 

Ford’s shoulders hunched around his ears shamefully. He didn’t have the heart to tell Shermie that ramen noodles were perhaps the first real food he’d eaten in a while. What was worse was Shermie had a point. Ford could afford to get something a bit better. He had the money to at least buy food. 

He couldn’t say the same for Stan. 

“I know, Sherm.” Ford admitted, defeated. 

“Good.” Shermie said, “I’m going to go shopping today.” 

Though Shermie said it in such a way that didn’t leave any room for argument, Ford’s heart constricted with fear at his declaration.

The world outside of the cabin wasn’t safe! Bill could be anywhere. 

His fear must have been evident on his face since when Shermie spoke again, his tone was a bit softer. 

“You don’t have to come with me. I know you have work to do.” Shermie said, unaware that that was exactly what Ford was afraid of, “I don’t have anything since I can’t dismantle the portal until the whole Stan thing is straightened out. I can go shopping while you’re working and we can have something good for lunch.” 

Ford shook his head, “No!” 

Shermie cocked an eyebrow at him, shocked by his desperate tone. 

“I mean—“ Ford tried to recover, “I don’t want you going to town alone. Getting some food shouldn’t take too long; I’ll go with you.”

Ford didn’t think Shermie could look any more surprised but obviously his brother hadn’t expected Ford to willingly take a break to go into town. 

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t. 

If it weren’t for the threat of Bill, if the images of Stan’s corpse weren’t fresh in his mind, he’d let his brother go into town while he stayed back to finish his work. 

However, Ford knew he wouldn’t be able to get much done as he’d be too worried about Shermie. He didn’t love the idea of missing valuable work time, especially since his brothers would probably insist he went to bed at a decent hour later on in the night, so it wasn’t like he could make it up at another time. 

It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but if Shermie insisted he needed to go into town, then Ford wasn’t going to let him go alone. 

“Oh—“ Shermie stammered out, clearly shocked, “Yeah, that’s fine too. You know I can go myself though?” 

Ford nodded. “That's not the issue.” He said, “I trust you; I just don’t trust anyone else in town.” 

To say he trusted anyone at all was something he didn’t think he would have down a week ago. Then again, a week ago, it had been just him against the world. 

He hadn’t even considered that his family would help him. Sure, he had sent for Stan, but had Stan not crashed, he had planned to give Stan his journal and send him back on his way. 

Distantly, Ford wondered what would have happened if that had happened. 

“Ok, I guess that makes sense,” Shermie said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of that as well. 

“Ok.” Ford said, barely withholding a heavy breath. His chest felt strangely tight at the idea of going into town. This was ok. Nothing would go wrong. It was just a simple trip into town. 

“Ok?” Shermie asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

Ford jerked out a small nod, “Ok.”


	13. Chapter 13

Ford couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a car so often in a short span of time. Shortly after he moved to Gravity Falls (was it really six years ago?), Steve had taken his car. He wasn’t sure if his car was long digested or some scrap of metal rusting away in the woods somewhere, but he hadn’t bothered to get another one. 

He supposed Fiddleford must have driven him into town at some point, but that must have been months ago. Granted, he had just recently taken a taxi into town, but that wasn’t an experience he wanted to relive. 

He no longer had the excuse that his sleep deprived mind would imagine Bill’s eyes and Shermie certainly wouldn’t have made a deal with him. 

Enough things weren’t going well; hopefully a simple trip to the store to pick up food would be just that; a simple trip to the store. 

“Ford, are you sure you want to come? You don’t look too good.” Shermie asked as he sat with the key posed by the ignition, waiting to turn the car on. 

No, Ford really didn’t want to go, but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t just let Shermie go into town on his own. As tempting as it was to stay in the safety of his house with Stan (who hadn’t been too thrilled that he couldn’t come with, even if he hadn’t blatantly expressed as much), Ford couldn’t, in good consciousness, do that. 

(A small, rational side of his brain recognized how sad it was that going into sleepy Gravity Falls would be so dangerous and nerve wracking. This place had once been his safe haven.) 

“I’m sure, Shermie. Let’s just get it over with.” Ford said, barely withholding a resigned sigh. 

Shermie merely nodded and turned the key in the ignition. After a few turns, the car rumbled to life. Shermie paused to blast the heat and turn the vents onto them, thankfully, before he put the car into drive. 

As he pulled down the drive, they passed Stan’s car, sitting vacant where the tow truck had left it. Ford hadn’t had the heart to move it and didn’t think he’d be able to bear the idea of getting in the car to do so. 

Hopefully Stanley would soon be able to do it himself anyway, Ford told himself firmly, ignoring the treacherous thought in his head that whispered that it wouldn’t happen. 

Shermie must have noticed Ford staring at Stan’s car. That, or he himself had been staring at their brother's car. 

“I can’t believe he’s managed to keep that thing running for this long.” Shermie commented as the car continued to slowly roll down the long, dirt drive. It must have snowed again recently since any snow that had managed to melt was replaced by a new blanket of snow. 

Ford had to admit, he had been quite impressed to find out Stan was still driving the same car he had from high school. He couldn’t imagine that keeping up on it had been cheap; it was a fairly old car, and he could only imagine the amount of miles, wear and tear Stan had put that thing through. 

With a pang, Ford also realized that keeping up with the car was probably cheaper than having to buy a whole car all together. Stan had pretty much confirmed he had been homeless since the time he was kicked out, apart from a few months stretch where he was able to afford a motel room until money dried up. If he lost his car, he’d lose any shelter he had and be completely vulnerable to the elements and anyone who wished harm on him. 

Stanley had been living out of his car, with no friendly face on his side, for over ten years without saying a peep to his family. He’d only kept in sporadic contact with their mother, but he never once asked for any money or help, even though he had to have known that their mother would have tried to help in any way she could. 

Hell, if Stan had called up Shermie, he would have had a house to sleep in and a family to have his back. (Ford didn’t want to think about how Stan was probably too nervous or scared to consider calling Ford for help, and Ford didn’t want to think about how he probably would have been too blinded by a stupid grudge to help out his own twin.)

Shermie was stubborn as a Pines, and Stan knew that once he made contact with Shermie, his brother wouldn’t give up trying to convince him to stay with him, even if just for a bit. 

Yet despite his circumstances, Stan never reached out, never asked for help, never even hinted that he needed it in the first place. If Shermie hadn’t shown up, Ford wouldn’t have even noticed his own twin had been homeless. Yet somehow Shermie had seen through him, even though Shermie hadn’t seen or talked to Stan even longer than Ford had. 

Ford recalled the conversation the brothers had when Shermie confronted Stan after he first arrived. His brother had believed their father's words. He hadn’t wanted to accept help since it would have proven their old man right. He really thought he’d eventually make it big on his own, make up for the mistake he made as a teenager that cost him everything, and be able to return home to his family where he’d be forgiven. 

Ford's stomach churned as he thought of that, and his part to play in it. He hadn’t bothered to hear his twin out, turned his back on him as his twin was thrown to the streets with a pre-packed bag, never bothered to even ask about Stan, let alone contact him himself. 

Yet Stan had dropped everything the moment Ford called for him. To think, Ford was just planning to give him the journal and send him right back out. 

Ford hadn’t realized he hadn’t responded to Shermie at all until he felt a hand test on his arm. 

Startled out of his thought, he couldn’t help but jump at the unexpected contact. 

“Jeez, Ford, are you ok?” Shermie asked, eyes soft with concern. 

Ford swallowed with some difficulty. When had his mouth gotten so dry? 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled quietly. 

“But?” Shermie asked, detecting easily that something was up. 

Ford sighed, leaning his head against the cold window of the car. 

“Just thinking about Stan.” He said. He watched as his breath gathered in condensation on the glass, slightly obscuring his view from the window. 

“You miss him, huh?” Shermie asked. 

Ford considered Shermies question for a moment before he responded, “No, Stan’s at home.” 

“You know it’s not the same.” Shermie said, quieter this time. 

Ford sighed heavily, leaning away from the window as the glass fogged up near completely. 

“You’re right.” He admitted, “It’s not the same. I guess I miss seeing him, or being able to, ya know, actually interact with him like any tangible person.” 

Shermie hummed, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

“But that’s not what I’m thinking about.” Ford finally admitted. 

“Ok, so what are you thinking about?” Shermie asked, glancing away from the road for just a second to glance at Ford. 

Ford pulled his hands into his lap, eyes lowering as he watched his hand pick at his fingers. 

“I’m—“ he paused, hesitant. Explaining his thoughts had never been difficult for him when it came to his studies. But talking about his feelings was a completely different story, “I’m realizing I’ve been a pretty lousy brother.” 

Shermies mouth pinched into a thin line. He didn’t need to say anything to know he probably agreed with Ford. 

Ford continued, not waiting to give Shermie a chance to respond, “And I’m worried that I’ll never get the chance to make it up to him.” 

Shermie looked towards him and even though Ford refused to look up from his hands, he knew Shermie was looking at him with a sympathetic look. 

“Stanford,” Shermie said, “Once this is all over, you’ll have plenty of time to make it up to Stan. You’ll figure out a way to bring him back, and afterwards, we’ll finish dismantling the portal and figure out a way to get rid of Bill and everything will be fine.” 

Ford didn’t say anything, so Shermie continued. 

“Besides, I don’t think Stan holds anything against you.” 

Ford finally looked up from his hands. 

“That’s worse though!” He exclaimed, “I turned my back on him! I thought he ruined my life and cut him out. I didn’t want to consider it was maybe an accident!” 

“Ford, you were both teenagers. Teenagers do stupid things.” 

“Yes, they do, but that doesn’t excuse how I didn’t once check up on him, or even ask how he was for over ten years. I wouldn’t have ever known he was homeless unless you hadn’t said something.” 

“He didn’t want you to know, Ford. He didn’t want any of us to know; you can’t blame yourself from not noticing something he didn’t tell you about.” 

“Stanley would have known!” Ford insisted, “I turned my back on him, and yet the moment I called for him, he came. And look what that got him.” 

Shermie reached out, laying a hand on Fords arm again. When Ford didn’t flinch this time, he squeezed gently. 

“Ford, what’s in the past is in the past. You can’t change it, so there’s no use wasting so much time and energy on it.” 

Huh, when Shermie put it that way he kind of had a point. 

“You can only learn from the past and move forward. If you regret what you did back then, then maybe talk to Stan about it.”

“I have.” Ford said. 

“Oh.” Shermie said, audibly shocked, “Wow, ok, I didn’t know you guys had talked about that.” 

“We had a talk this morning before you got up.” 

Shermie was quiet for a moment and Ford couldn’t exactly blame him for not knowing what to say. He wouldn’t have expected himself to talk to Stan about any of this either. 

Talking about their feelings wasn’t something that either twin was good at. It was how they had gotten into this mess in the first place. 

But death did a lot to change things. Death, and regret. 

And probably stress too. With all the setbacks recently, Ford was finding it harder and harder to not fret about the future. 

“Good. That’s a good start. If you’ve talked to Stan about this, then he knows that you’re sorry.” 

Ford bit his lip. Sure, he was sorry, but what good did that do? He was no closer to bringing Stan back than he was the day of the failed resurrection and as time passed, the more problems he’d have to deal with and come up with a solution for. Not to mention he still had no idea how to get rid of Bill. 

He wouldn’t say as much to his brothers, but he didn’t have much faith that everything would turn out ok. Maybe it was unfair to let them cling to that hope, but he didn’t have the heart to take it away from them. 

But if he didn’t think he’d be successful bringing Stan back, what good was being sorry of their past when there was no future for Ford to make it up to Stan? 

“Alright, Ford, listen,” Shermie said firmly. Ford turned to his brother, “I can see that brain of yours working in overdrive. You can’t waste so much of your time and energy over something you can’t change. Focus on what you can do. You’ll find a way to bring Stan back. I know you will, Stan knows it too. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to make it up to him afterwards, ok?” 

Ford sighed reluctantly. When Shermie put it like that, he definitely couldn’t tell Shermie about his doubts. Both of his brothers had come the moment he needed help, regardless of the fact that Ford hadn’t talked to either of them for years. They’d both been instrumental in helping him and even against all odds, they still had faith that Ford would find a way to make it right. 

Ford wished he could have the faith in himself that they did, but he’d taken too many blows to his confidence and intellect. 

Not wanting to argue, Ford sighed reluctantly. “Ok, Shermie.” 

“Ok?” Shermie asked, glancing towards him with a raised eyebrow. 

Ford just nodded, “Ok.” 

Shermie didn’t seem completely happy with his response, but he thankfully let the topic drop. Besides, they were close to being at the store anyways. They both had more important things to do than argue. 

—-

Despite being a small town, the grocery store was busy. Maybe it was because the sky warned of another storm and the townsfolk were stocking up. 

Ford’s eyes darted back and forth, eyeing the people moving through the aisles for anyone suspicious, waiting for that flash of yellow or a stiffly stretched grin. No one seems to have noticed him as they were too busy filling their carts. 

It was unnerving. The townsfolk went on about their day as normal, completely unaware of the threat so close to their homes, to their families. 

None of these people understood even a fraction of the fear or stress Stanford felt. 

He’d always felt like an outcast due to his abnormal amount of fingers or his high IQ. Yet even on the worst days, he’d never felt so isolated from people as he did now. 

A firm hand rested on his shoulder. For a brief moment, the gesture reminded him so much of Stan that he thought it was his twin. But when he turned to look at the person stepping from behind him to stand at his side, he was met with Shermie’s smile. 

“Hey,” Shermie spoke, his voice low and quiet. It was like a balm to his frayed nerves. “Are you doing okay?” 

No, he was not okay. He hadn’t been okay for a long time. His attempt to fix everything had only succeeded in making the situation worse. Now he not only had to worry about the fate of the universe, but he was the only person capable of bringing Stan back. 

His back felt like it was about to snap any day now under the crushing pressure weighing on him. 

Actually, it wasn’t just his back. His shoulders were starting to feel that pressure too. 

Wait a second. That wasn’t a metaphorical weight. 

It was Shermie squeezing his shoulder. That’s right, he hadn’t answered his question yet. 

“Sorry, yeah, I’m fine, Sherm.” Ford jerked out quickly. He stuffed his hands in his pocket, turning his gaze to Shermie. 

Shermie’s smile had disappeared and in its place was a look that read as both concerned and exasperated. 

“Come on, Stanford, I know you’re no—“

Ford squeezed his eyes shut and his hands in his pocket clenched, “I know, you’re not dumb.” He interrupted before Shermie could finish, “I just— I need to be fine.”

Jerking his head away from Shermies direction, Ford opened his eyes.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently, “Ford,” Shermie said, his voice much softer than before. 

When Ford didn’t respond, Shermie spoke again, “Ford, please look at me.”

Ford clenched his jaw, pointedly staring at the floor. He couldn’t face Shermie; his brother somehow could always see right through him. He’d be able to see Ford wasn’t fine. 

Their fathers words echoed through his head. Weakness was unbefitting of a man, especially a Pines man. 

Shermie had left his family to help him, despite the fact that Ford had barely contacted him in over a decade. He barely flinched when Ford told him about Bill. Shermie had been shocked, yes. As any sane person should be. But he hadn’t run away. 

Not to mention Shermie had total faith in him to bring Stan back. Despite his failures, Shermie didn’t doubt him, even when Ford doubted himself. 

He couldn’t reveal that doubt to Shermie. He couldn’t show that weakness when Shermie was so hopeful that everything would be ok. 

It was just another reminder that Shermie was a better brother than he had been. Shermie dropped everything to come help him, Shermie hadn’t turned his back on Stan.

Hell, he believed in Ford's capabilities so much that he was already trying to get Stan to stay with him ‘once this was all over’. 

It was Ford's fault Stan had died. If he hadn’t sent that postcard, his brother, while not okay by any means (and who’s fault was that?), would at least be alive. Ford had taken Stan away from Shermie twice now. He’d failed his family twice. 

Just because he wasn’t so sure he could bring Stan back didn’t mean he could take that hope away from Shermie. 

“Ford, please,” Shermie’s voice was a gentle whisper in his ears, pulling him out of the dark spiral he’d fallen into, “Just look at me.”

Ford was still for a moment. Reluctantly, he agreed, tearing his gaze away from the floor to look at his brother. 

Shermie’s eyes were soft, steadily trained on Ford in a way that locked Ford’s eyes on him. 

A sad smile crept across his face, “It’s okay to not be okay.” 

Shermie let those words hang openly in the air for a moment, instinctively knowing that the words needed time to burrow through Ford's thick skull. 

“If you think I’m expecting you to be okay while dealing with this whole situation, I’m not.” Shermie continued with a gentle tone, “I came here to help you because I love you, Ford.” 

Ford blinked several times at the admission. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever heard those words come from his father. Emotions weren’t fitting for a man, yet the words came so freely from Shermie, who was by far a stronger man than their father had been. 

“This isn’t something you can or should deal with on your own. I might not have the brains to help you with the science-y side, so please, Ford, let me help you with this.” 

Shermie squeezed his shoulder one last time as he finished. Ford, swallowing the lump growing in his throat, considered Shermie’s words for a moment before giving a small nod. 

“Okay?” Shermie asked. 

Ford nodded again, meaning it this time, “Okay.” 

Shermie smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately, just like he used to when Ford was younger. “Thank you. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, Ford. I know this isn’t easy.”

Ford, not for the first time, could see Shermie’s paternal instincts clear as day. Filbrick might have been one to assert his beliefs on what a real man should be or what a father ought to do, but he wasn’t half the man Shermie was. 

Ford wasn’t half the man Shermie, or Stan, was. But if any good came out of this disaster, maybe he’d be able to learn. 

Maybe, he could learn to be the brother Shermie and Stan deserved.


End file.
